V 



\ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. f 



Chap. 3M\1^._. 
Shelf ._.J)1 <A*% 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



YOICE S 



SPIRIT-LAND. 



NATHAN FRANCIS WHITE. 



MEDIUM. 



' In earth and heaven, sea and air, 
God's Spirit moveth — everywhere ! 
And speaketh, wheresoe'er a voice 
Uplifts to sorrow or rejoice." — Schiller. 



NEW YORK: 
PARTRIDGE AND BRTTTAN, 

300 BROADWAY. 

1854. 







ENTERED, ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS, IN THE TEAR 1854, BT 

PARTRIDGE AND BRITTAN, 

IN THE CLERK'S OFFICE OF THE DISTRICT COURT OF THE UNITED 
STATES FOR THE SOUTHERN DISTRICT OF NEW YORK. 



NEW YORK STEREOTYPE ASSOCIATION, 

201 William Street. 



Holman, Gray & Co., Printer* 
New- York. 



F R I E 1 I) S OF TRUTH 

AND 

SPIRITUAL FREEDOM 

(■WITHOUT WHICH ALL OTHER FREEDOM IS AS A SHADOW), 

THESE 

Waxtn from Sjmit-f art, 

IN SO FAR AS 

THE MEDIUM 

THROUGH WHOM THEY WERE UTTERED 

IS CONCERNED, 

ARE 

'?$umt}l£ IF nsr erf b ctr. 



INTRODUCTION, 



How beautiful and consoling to believe, with Coleridge, that there is 
a Spirit-ladder — 

" That from this gross and visible world of dust, 
Even to the sjarry world, with thousand rounds, 
Builds itself up, on which the unseen powers 
Move up and down, on heavenly ministries; 
The circles in the circles, that approach 
The central sun, with ever-narrowing orbits." 

Snch, perchance, was the ladder Jacob saw in rapt vision ; and such, 
to the aspiring soul, have ever pierced the skies, linking the visible with 
the invisible, the mortal with the immortal. Those were blessed eras 
in the history of humanity, when a simple and true faith opened the 
eyes of the pure to behold, and unloosed their tongues to converse with, 
the angels and ministering spirits of the Almighty, and even to hold 
direct communion with God himself. In all Christendom, men believe 
in the reality of those eras, and accept as sacred the revelation which 
records to us the familiar intercourse between the inhabitants of earth 
and the inhabitants of heaven. Nor is such belief irrational, if it be 
indeed true that God is alike the Creator and Father of all spirits. The 
sublime prayer of the accepted Son of God, " Thy kingdom come, Thy 
will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven," confirming the Old Testa- 
ment by the New, teaches us that the realm of divine bliss — the true 
Spirit-Land — is neither here nor there, but everywhere, and that as 
" the pure in heart shall see God," whatever the outward condition of 
our being, so is heaven, the immortal Paradise, wherever in the uni- 
verse a pure spirit dwells. In no revelation is it taught that communion 
between mortals and immortals has been, or will be, denied to the pure 
in spirit. Nor has any revelation taught, nor does human reason teach, 



VI I N T R O D UCTICTN. 

that an intercourse, once enjoyed, may not at all times and forever, be 
enjoyed under similar circumstances and conditions. And how much 
stronger is our fai'th in the power of communion between spirits of 
earth and heaven, when we are taught that the Spirit-Land is open not 
only to the visio'n of the pure and perfect, but that God and his angels 
have deigned to repeatedly renew their primal intercourse with the 
erring and imperfect ? Truly the Psalmist could say of the blessed 
God: "If I make my bed in hell, He is there;" or, "If I take the 
wings of the morning, and flee away, He is there" — his love is without 
weariness, and " His mercy endureth forever." 

All revelations, or scriptures, and the ever-open and unalterable 
pages of nature, upon which religions, or faiths in the hereafter, are 
founded, teach, in some degree, a relation and intercourse between the 
finite and the Infinite, through the medium of spirit. This is the vital 
essence of the Christian's belief. Without this, his religion is as cold 
and unconsoling as the most skeptical philosophy that ever sacrificed 
upon the altar of human pride the universal instinct of humanity— a 
belief in a wise, paternal, and bountiful God. And every Christian 
equally believes that, in ages past, at least, man has walked with God 
upon the earth ; that angels have descended to console, warn, and va- 
riously minister unto men ; that living men have been translated, while 
yet in the flesh, to the special presence of God, and that spirits of men 
who have once walked the earth have been permitted to reappear unto 
mortals, as it were to remove the last, lingering doubt, of the intimate 
connection between God's Spirit-children of earth and heaven. If this 
were not true — if this inspiring belief were not justified, then the record 
of the Garden of Eden were a fable ; then the pages of the prophets 
were a fiction ; then Moses heard not and saw not God ; then were not 
Enoch and Elijah caught up to heaven ; then Jesus descended not, nor 
arose from the septilcher ; nor were comforting angels with Peter in 
prison, nor did John behold in Patmos a prophet descending from the 
skies. ' 

How clear it is in the light of the accepted record of the past, what 
we must believe in regard to spiritual existence and relations, if we be- 
lieve at all. And since not to believe — not to have some faith in this 
regard — is the bitterest cup of human wretchedness, believe we must. 
We desire felicity too keenly to deny what reason accepts as the highest 
necessity of our existence. Let us -ask, then, since the Spiritualism of 
of the past— interfused through all religions, and literature, and creeds, 



INTRODUCTION. Vll 

and castes — is accepted as rational, essential, and beautiful, why a 
corresponding, though less pretentious, Spiritualism of the present 
should be rejected] Has the character of God, or the needs and char- 
acter of man changed ? Is the soul's longing impertinent to-day, that 
was tenderly responded to by its Creator one thousand or six thousand 
years ago ! Is it less rational that an angel should comfort a Peter, 
or a prophet's spirit appear unto a John, to-day, than that these things 
have occurred in other, remoter times? And if, of old, from unlettered 
fishermen God selected media and apostles, and fired their tongues with 
more than mortal eloquence and truth, may He not of even the untem- 
pered clay of our times, select vessels through which to pour the light 
and glory of his Spirit ? Surely, if there was a betrayer, a denier, and 
a doubter among the " Twelve," and if a Magdalen was found worthier 
than many daughters of the Pharisees, we can not believe mankind in 
our own day unworthy of as close communion and as tender regard as 
God ever vouchsafed to man. On the contrary, as mankind progress 
in intelligence, and humanity is more universally developed and recog- 
nized as related to God, it is rational that the communion of God's 
Spirit-children with God and with one another, should become more 
and more intimate and universal. Therefore it is that, in the main, the 
Spiritualism of all times is to us acceptable and beautiful. Its " Mani- 
festations" in the present are not dissimilar to its " Eevelations" in the 
past. Both meet and answer the same universal need — a need that has 
not ceased at any time, and which can not cease while the mortal state 
exists. 

But there are some evidences, we conceive, which should especially 
convince us that we are perpetually surrounded and influenced by 
superior powers and intelligences — in short, by the Spirit of God, of 
angels, and of those who, before us, have, like ourselves, walked the 
earth. Evidences like these were not wanting in other days ; why 
should they be nowl Let us reason this matter kindly and fairly to- 
gether, for it has to do, if we are indeed germinating toward immortal- 
ity, with the highest and holiest concerns of our being. Of old, men 
were endowed, as is recorded, with supernatural gifts of speech, with 
diverse tongues, with the power of healing, and to work wonders among 
men. That was Spiritualism in times not so remote as to be lost in 
myth and tradition — times historical and veritable, the spiritual records 
of which are accredited and venerated by the Christian world. Has 
the Spiritualism of our day done or claimed more 1 Is it, if its mani- 



Vlll INTRODUCTION. 

festations correspond with the older revelations, less credible, less enti- 
tled to belief and respect 1 Does the mere lapse of time change princi- 
ples that are, in the nature of things, fixed and eternal? We can not 
think so, lest we should confound both our reason and our faith. This 
very volume, to which we are attempting a feeble and perhaps unbefit- 
ting introduction, is to our mind, cognizant as we are of the facts con- 
cerning it, a special proof, though but one of multitudes of similar 
constantly developing evidences, that man, aye, very imperfect man, is 
made — as he ever has been, at periods — a particular instrument for the 
revelation of God's purposes and spirit, and the possible fraternal inter- 
course of all God's Spirit-children. 

Here is a volume of more than two hundred pages, spoken and writ- 
ten in obedience to superior influences by one who, in a normal condi- 
tion, possesses no such power of utterance. This volume of Voices 
from Spirit-Land is, to our belief, no more the conscious product of 
the Medium through whom its utterance is claimed to have occurred, 
than it is the work of some Patagonian yet unborn. Why do we believe 
thus 1 Simply because this Medium is known, and has been from his 
infancy, by as many and as rational and reputable witnesses, perhaps, 
as ever confirmed equally interesting facts ; witnesses whose testimony, 
with all the formality of the oath, could be. given, if it were deemed 
necessary, in proof that, except as an involuntary medium, he never 
has displayed the slightest tendency or capacity for such utterance. It 
is to him as verily an unknown tongue as was ever given to prophet or 
apostle. He can not evoke it, nor exorcise it to silence when, by some 
superior power, it is evoked. It takes possession of his. hand and 
tongue, speaking whether he will or no ; and to himself, when free 
from its spell, it is, more than to all who behold it, a wonder and a 
mystery. And yet no mystery, when the philosophy of spirit-inter- 
course is embraced and understood. When the poet Gray, immortal 
through his "Elegy," if he were not else, was reproached in that he 
wrote so little, he replied, in a letter to a friend : " I by no means pre- 
tend to inspiration, but yet I affirm, that the faculty in question is by no 
means voluntary. It is the result, I suppose, of a certain disposition of 
mind, which does not depend on one's self, and which I have not felt this 
long time. You that are a witness how seldom this spirit has moved me in 
my life, may easily give credit to what I say." If so naturally bountifully 
gifted a soul as Gray's could confess so much, how much more earnestly 
may the Medium of this volume claim special inspiration for its utter- 



INTRODUCTION. IX 

ance ! He, without one natural gift tending to poesy, and with but 
small conception and a meager embrace, in his normal state, of the 
ideas and sentiments, the scope and spirit of what has been uttered 
tb. rough him, may well claim that inspiration " does not depend on 
one's self." He may say with Pope, though with an hundred-fold force : 

" As yet a child, and all unknown to fame, 
I lisped in numbers, for the numbers came !" 

It is scarcely to be expected that the materialistic critic and reader 
will not smile incredulously. To such, arguments ad facts that do not 
tally with their prejudices, bigotries, and conceits are as the idle wind. 
But to Spiritualists— to those whose experience has enlarged their per- 
eeption and quickened their faith — there is nothing of claim set up for 
these Voices that is not intelligible and reasonable. It is to such that 
we are particularly speaking. If the Spiritualisms of mankind had 
been left to the judgment of those whose lives and beliefs they rebuked 
and opposed, they would always have been what their enemies of to- 
day would fain brand them. But, thank God, they are mightier than 
the scorn, and pride, and ignorance, and prejudice, and castes, and 
creeds of human invention. 

Many who read this volume will have read the "Epic of the Starry 
Heaven," uttered through Thomas L. Harris— a marvelous utterance ; 
and yet, this volume to us appears more remarkable. Mr. Harris is a 
natural poet, highly gifted in his normal state, and cultivated by obser- 
vation, experience, and reflection. Though less mightily, his voluntary 
song had lifted our hearts and thrilled our spirits long ere his subhmer 
involuntary utterance. Our wonder, even at the loftiest utterance from 
such a soul, could but be less than if we heard a dumb, ungifted tongue 
suddenly break forth in rapturing strains, or saw a blank page sud- 
denly bloom with truth and beauty under the involuntary motion of 
an undisciplined hand. Such a tongue and hand, save when influenced 
by some superior invisible power, has the Medium of these Voices 
from the Spirit-L\nd — Nathan F. White. A gentle-hearted, simple- 
minded young man ; diffident and unpretending in whatever sphere ; 
with only the limited common-school education of a humble New-En- 
gland farmer's son ; a daily hand-toiler since his early youth ; without 
imagination or ideality beyond the measure of Pollock's happy man, 

" Who thought the moon no bister than his father's shield" — 
1* 



X INTRODUCTION. 

Is it nofc indeed surprising that such a one, if the spiritual philosophy 
be rejected, should break forth in a voice, new and startling to him- 
self, and with fiery tongue scourge evils and picture characters to his 
observation, reading, and experience unknown 1 All this Mr. White has 
done — done in the presence of multitudes of unimpeachable witnesses — 
in the presence of opposers and scoffers of Spiritualism, who, neverthe- 
less, have not had the hardihood to deny the integrity of the Medium, 
or dispute facts occurring under their own eyes. What renders the 
utterances of Mr. White still more remarkable, is the fact that their 
ideas and teachings were mainly opposed, in so far as Spiritualism is 
concerned, to his education, prejudices, and belief, and to those of his^ 
fathers before him. 

Mr. White was born in the then town of Derby (now Seymour), Con- 
necticut, November 16, 1827 Until within three years past his life 
has been quietly passed in that State, in the town of his birth, save a 
period passed, while learning the engraver's art, at New Haven. All 
who have known him at all intimately, from childhood to the present 
hour, know equally well that the utterance of poetry has been, and is, 
as foreign to his natural tendencies and capacities, as the prospect of 
his becoming the Grand Llama of Thibet. They know, also, that he 
has been, and is, incapable of disguise or deception. They may believe 
him under the influence of evil spirits, if they please, but they must 
believe him under the influence of some spirit superior to his own. For 
several years prior to his spiritual impressment he was a devoted mem- 
ber of an " orthodox" Christian sect. And notwithstanding his normal 
sense and faith have been enlarged by his Spirit-intercourse, until he 
must needs reject the dogmas and errors of that sect, its communion 
has not been withdrawn from him, nor have the purity and piety of his 
life been questioned. Mr. White's Spirit-intercourse began, under re- 
markable circumstances, some three and a half years ago. Visiting with 
a friend, a medium, at Bridgeport, Connecticut, the first manifestations 
he witnessed excited only his mirth and ridicule. Soon after, when in 
the solitude of his own room, he found himself becoming a medium of 
the very manifestations — rappings — he had ridiculed. He still per- 
sistently regarded them as unmeaning and mischievous. In this con- 
dition of mind he remained for a long time, becoming daily more and 
more developed as a medium. Even when he found himself a.n invol- 
untary agent for the communication of idens and truths, he was slow to 
believe it was not some delusion. About this period he removed to the 



INTRODUCTION.. XI 

city of Trey, ISTew York, where he has since resided, pursuing his pro- 
fession of engraver, and where he has bee a made the medium of extra- 
ordinary incidents and revelations, among which may be numbered 
the utterance of these Voices from Spirit-Land. 

After six months of rapping mediumship, Mr. White was developed 
'as a writing medium, and a year later, as a speaking medium, and is 
now, by turns, impressed to all these modes of communication. In so 
far as he has been made aware, he was first impressed by the spirit of 
an Indian chief — Powhattan, which spirit continues at times to impress 
him, particularly when other spirits fail. Under the influence of Pow- 
hattan, Mr. "White has been made to speak in the presence of and with 
living "Red men," in the Indian tongue, and to manifest all the pecu- 
liarities of the Indian in. a surprising manner. Under the influence of 
other s}3irits he has been made to speak in various languages, with all 
the ease and grace of persons native to them ; and to write in German, 
or Hebrew, or Arabic, with a rapidity and perfection of chirography 
impossible to natural skilL * 

At the period of Mr. White's first impressment, he was in feeble 
health, afflicted with bleeding at the lungs, and other symptoms of 
pulmonary disease. Under Spirit-influence, his health has been com- 
pletely restored, and his voice, previously weak, rendered strong and 
loud — as those can testify who have been startled by his "war-whoop," 
when thus influenced by his favorite spirit, Powhattan. Some months 
since, at the earnest solicitation of friends in Troy, and elsewhere, who 
had been witnesses of his remarkable manifestations, and desired the 
publication of some of his utterances in a volume, Mr. White visited 
INew York, where his mediumship was subjected to the severest tests 
without, in the slightest degree, shaking its claims. The writer of this 
had, on those occasions, ample opportunity to study the natural char- 
acter and powers of Mr. W., and to satisfy himself that deception was 
utterly impossible. We saw Mr. W. under all the forms of Impression 
— Rapping, Writing, and Speaking -and if the matter communicated 
had failed to convince us of the presence of some superior spirit, we 
should have been convinced by the physical phenomena presented. 
The slowly-growing rigidity, death-like pallor, spasmodic tremors, and 
icy-cold sweat gathering like " beaded dew" upon the brow of the 
Medium while in process of entrancement, preparatory to speaking, 
were what no man could counterfeit. And when the voice issued, as 

1* 



Xll INTRODUCTION. 

it were from a body dead to outward impression and appearance, the 
veriest skeptic felt that this was more than mortal. 

In permitting this volume to go before the public, Mr. White has 
yielded to the wishes of the large circle of friends by whom he is es- 
teemed and beloved, rather than consulted his own inclinatioi.s. He 
knows not by whose spirits the Voices were dictated, and only knows 
that they were uttered at intervals, through his hand and tongue, often 
but a few lines at a trance, and sometimes to the extent of more than a 
hundred lines. It is evident from the subject-matter, that more than 
one spirit dictated ; style, flow, and force of expression indicate this. 
The higher qualities of the various poems are their truth, clearness, 
earnestness, and directness. Here and there is a sting of biting sarcasm 
worthy of Pope or Byron, or a flash of intellect and fancy that reminds 
of Shelley. But the pervading spirit is force rather than brilliancy. 
The song breathes with a noble humanity and lofty faith. It appeals 
for Freedom, Justice, and Truth. It scourges cant, hypocrisy, and all 
uncharitableness. It fully accords with the philosophy of Spiritualism. 
To only three or four of the poems were titles given by the dictating 
spirits. The rest have been supplied according to the judgment of their 
editor, as also the title of the volume itself. Since the manuscripts of 
the poems passed into the publishers' hands, Mr. White has not seen 
them, nor has he seen any of the proof-sheets of the volume. He is as 
ignorant of book-making as the child unborn. Any defects, therefore, 
apart from the Voices themselves, Avhich stand precisely as uttered, 
must be charged to others than Mr. W. and his impressing-spirits. 

It is not necessary to say more. Voices from Spirit-Land will be 
welcomed, we doubt not, in the circles and by the firesides of all Spirit- 
ualists. Let none fear that, whatever other qualities they may possess, 
they utter one word to contaminate — one line for evil. They are not 
unworthy of notice from the intellectual, while to the humbler spirit 
they will bring food for reflection, and perchance light, strength, and 
consoling balm. C. D. S. 



INVOCATION. 



Spirit divine, eternal and immortal. 

By whom all things created live and move ; 
Who holds't the keys that open every portal 

Of this vast universe of light and love ; 
Who hast vouchsafed all things that we inherit, 

So not to chance is left a shade or tissue 
To shape our destiny — mind, body, spirit — 

From being's smallest need to its immortal issue, 
Thee we invoke ! O let thy love divine 
Speed on the Truth, since all of truth is thine. 

Spirit beneficent ! if so thy ministers, 

Angels, or spirits of the freed of earth — 
Alike thy servants and thy worshipers — 

Have spoken aught to quicken or give birth 
Through mortal lips to Freedom, Truth, and Love ; 

Faith, Hope, and Charity, and Blessedness ; 
Or aught, or all that lifts the soul above 

Material things, Thou wilt their utterance bless, 
Though poor and weak the mortal tongues they bor- 
row, 
To waken mortal joy and lessen mortal sorrow. 



XIV INVOCATION. 

Spirit all- merciful ! since first to being 

Thou didst from chaos and from darkness call — ■ 
With hand omnipotent and eye all-seeing — 

All forms, all life, vast suns and atoms small, 
Thou has not left one sparrow e'er to perish, 

Nor yet one hair unnumbered e'er to fall, 
But with all-mighty love dost keep and cherish, 

And guide, and guard, through tender mercy, all, 
Making the universe to glorify 
Thee in all things — earth, heaven, sea, and sky. 

Spirit all-bountiful ! in other ages, 

Thou deign'd'st to walk in mortal paradise 
With Adam ! and with prophets, seers, and sages, 

Thy angels, down descending from the skies, 
Since then have frequent held sweet intercourse, 

Watching and warning, and in cell and prison 
Holding with saints and eremites discourse ; 

Sitting in sepulchers, from whence, uprisen, 
Thy Son, ascending, God-like, to the skies, 
Unvailed to man the immortal paradise. 

Spirit all-mighty! not alone thy angels 

With thee have walked along our mortal way, 

Breathing in raptured ears Love's high evangels, 
Making our night of sin and sorrow, day ; 



INVOCATION. XV 

Thon stood'st with Moses on the holy mountain ; 

Thy angels, Peter, -prisoned, comforted ; 
To many an ancient shrine and sacred fountain 

The mem'ry of thy presence still is wed ; 
But more than this, man's spirit thou hast given 
To bring us messages of Love from Heaven. 

Spirit eternal ! was it not thy prophet, 

And not an angel, John in Patmos saw ? 
So reads the " Sacred Word." Shall doubters scoff 
it? 

Ay, one who erst, obedient to thy law, 
'Mong men walked forth ere called to the Elysian ; 

A holy man — a saint — at death upborne 
To Heaven, from whence, in glory, to John's vision 

He came, of all his mortal image shorn. 
And if one earth-born soul, through death immor- 
tal, 
Descend, may not another pass Heaven's portal % 

Spirit adorable ! thy love surpasses 

All thought, all wish, all prayer of feeble man. 
In all time's cycles not a moment passes 

But thou dost all thy vast creation scan. 
Thou watchest, guiclest, givest life and motion — ■ 

Temp'ring the pulses of the universe ; 



XVI INVOCATION. 

Alike in smallest mote, star, tempest, ocean, 

Each voiced thy praise and glory to rehearse ; 
But most of all, thy love to man is shown, 
.For in Thine image made is man alone. 

O Spirit, who didst bear in chariot, burning, 

The rapt Elijah np from earth to heaven, 
While yet with mortal eye and sense discerning 

The glorious convoy to his spirit given ; 
Who caught up Enoch ere death's hand had stricken 

The cords that bound him to mortality ; 
Thou canst our mortal to immortal quicken ; 

Thou canst from sin and bondage make us free — 
To Thee, in faith and trust, we look, adoring, 
Upon thine altars all our incense pouring. 

O Spirit infinite ! do thou guide — guard us, 

By thy dear messengers of love and grace ; 
Thou art our God ! forever turn tow r ard us 

The light and glory of thy Father-face ; 
Speak, by thy spirits, to our souls and through us, 

As thou hast spoken to the saints of old ; 
In truth and all things beautiful renew us ; 

Purge us from dross and make us as fine gold — 
Unto our spirits be thy Spirit given, 
To lead on earth and bear us up to heaven ! 

C. D. S. 



€nttntti. 



Page 

AMERICAN FREEDOM _ 19 

THE OUTCAST,. 90 

THE REUNION „ „ „ „ 130 

THE BETRAYED 156 

THE SPIRIT-BORN 167 

A VISION 175 

OLD FABLES 181 

THE LAST OF THE RED MAN 186 

PROGRESS OF THE WORLD 190 

THE CRUCIFIXION . „ 195 

THE FUTURE 199 

THE CHANGE 202 

they've LAID HER TO REST 205 

DEATH 208 

DOGMAS 210 

the rock of truth 1 212 

the pilot, reason , 215 

poverty's doom 220 

a vision 225 

theology 232 

a fragment 238 

trust in god 244 

the future 247 

awake, my lute 248 

SHADOWS 250 

WEEP NOT FOR THE DEAD 253 

WE ARE FREE 255 

GONE BEFORE 257 

THE child's PRAYER 259 

INFANTILE DEVOTIONS 260 



SPIRIT-YOICES. 



JUunntt $xtt)usm. 

America, called Freedom's land, well roam, 
Leaving awhile our bright, celestial home, 
Throughout thy growing cities' crowded streets ; 
Nor e'er forget thy villages' calm retreats, 
Where rugged plowmen till the fruitful lands, 
That willing yield unto their toil-worn hands 
The bread that drives grim famine from your door, 
And cheers the hearts of Europe's starving poor. 
Across thy favored hills we'll take our way, 
From Eastern shores to calm Pacific's«bay ; 
Where throng the rich, the poor, the young, the old, 
In eager search — for what 1 for paltry gold ! 
Where busy cities, with a sudden birth, 
Shoot up, like fairy castles, from the earth ; 
Reminding us of tales in childhood learned, 
Of forests in a night to cities turned j 



20 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

Of sinking sun that on a desert glowed, 
Then rose again and countless armies showed. 
Back turning then, we'll seek thy Southern shore, 
Where summer's sun seems smiling evermore ; 
Where luscious fruits are heaping on the ground, 
And plenty's smile is beaming bright around; 
Where all seems joy, till, winding through the vale, 
Is heard the -stifled, heart-despairing wail 
Of Afric's sons, who groan beneath the toil 
Oppression claims on Freedom's vaunted soil. 
Through palace rich, through cottage of the low, 
With fleeting spirit-step we'll noiseless go ; 
Through halls of learning wend our quiet way, 
And temples, where the rich can kneel to pray, 
Nor fear, beneath the tow'ring dome safe pewed, 
To soil their splendors in the contact rude ; 
And sisters, brothers, bearing humble name, 
Attention from us for awhile shall claim ; 
Till all combined and mingled into one, 
From Maine's bleak hills to Texas' southern sun, 
From California's gold-besprinkled shore, 
To where Atlantic's billows endless roar, 
A changeful tale of joy and sorrow tells : 
And ye may judge how much of Freedom dwells 
Within the land, which, though beyond the rest, 
Is still with God-like Liberty unblest. 
Commence we where the Pilgrim Fathers stood, 
And to their guide across the foaming flood, 



AMERICAN FREEDOM, 21 

With hearts united bowed in humble prayer, 
And praise that, with a kind paternal care, 
From persecution's hand he'd set them free ; 
Safe guided them across the stormy sea, 
To where hope smiling on the Western strand, 
Welcomed their coming with extended hand 
To where, from shackles free, the mind might soar, 
And realms of glorious thought unchecked explore, 
Nor fear, that knowledge gained, to freely speak 
To minds inquiring truths for which they seek. 
But were they free as this ? or do I tell 
What would have been but for the slavish spell 
Dark superstition throws across the mind, 
And bigotry's strong chains assist to bind ? 
Do I but tell what might have been, had they, 
Who harbored first in Plymouth's welcome bay, 
But finished what they had so well begun ; 
Followed the path marked out by Reason's sun, 
Wide scattered every fragment of the chain 
That would not let them soar above the plain 
O'er which their fathers moved, fearful they'd turn 
From ancient paths, progressive truths to learn ? 
Did they then break the chains that long had bound 
Them, willing, abject slaves unto the ground, 
And rise above the with'ring, dead'ning spell? 
The blood of those who dared to think, can tell 
How much the struggling, soaring mind had won, 
Who fondly dreamed that Freedom's Western sun 



22 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

Would free him from the hateful, galling band 
That drove him houseless from his native land. 
And now ye boast of Pilgrim blood so free 
That, leaving all, they fled across the sea 
Rather than bow them to those sordid priests, 
With 'vengeful warrior and with howling beasts, 
Where war-whoops mingled with the wolves' deep roar, 
Their dwellings made far from their native shore. 
Ye boast them free, but were they free indeed ? 
Let martyrs tell, who, for their conscience bleed ! 
Hark to the sound of the disgraceful whip ! 
The sobs that burst from tortured woman's lip ! 
And why ? because she dared to think, to speak ; 
Oh shame ! is this the liberty ye seek ? 
. Was it for this ye left your early homes 
To wander where the yelling savage roams ? 
For this left ye that quiet village green, 
Where May's glad sun oft hailed thee chosen queen ? 
Where orders, issued from that rustic throne, 
Were quick obeyed as though the jewels shone 
Upon your brow that grace but monarch's head, 
Instead of fading wreath, that soon would shed 
Each drooping leaf, and then aside be cast, 
Known like your power, but only in the past? 
Why did ye leave old England's rocky shore ? 
Why cross those stormy, threat'ning billows o'er, 
To wander where the prowling panthers scream ? 
Did ye, beneath oppression's goadings dream 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 23 

That liberty of conscience ye might find 
Where superstition still o'erawed the mind ? 
Oh vain such dream ! for Liberty's ne'er found 
Reposing on such bleak, unhallowed ground ; 
As well might ye expect the gentle dove, 
Whose loudest murm'rings only breathe of love, 
Consorting with the filthy bird of prey 



Whose croaking throat forever bodes de 



ay, 



As Bigotry and Liberty combined 
In partnership, to guide the human mind. 
And thus, America, upon thy strand, 
Was it with those who left their childhood's land ; 
They fled from home to 'scape oppressive toil, 
Nor shook from off their feet the clinging soil, 
From which upsprung the growing weeds of strife 
That, on thy shores, oppression woke to life, 
Till deeds were done in Freedom's holy name 
That tyranny's dark, bloody page would shame. 
But not alone was Liberty disgraced : 
Religion on the shameful page was placed, 
And angels bowed their heads in sacred grief 
To read that name upon such blotted leaf 
How blotted 1 noble Williams, thou canst tell 
What bitter tears from houseless exiles fell ! 
Self-exiled first, far from their native strand, 
Then driven forth by brother exiles' hand 
Because they dared to reason 'bove the rest, 
Nor kept their thoughts confined within the breast ; 



24 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

By hands of those they, unresisting, bled, 

Who, with them homeless, from old England fled ; 

Because, forsooth, they could not do the same 

Which now their exiled brothers from them claim. 

They fled from home to free the soaring mind, 

Then strove their brother's growing thoughts to bind ; 

They cross the sea for liberty of speech, 

Then with the lash erase the words they preach. 

Oh what consistency ! how can ye boast 

When rise before ye such a countless host 

Of witnesses, jto prove that Freedom's name 

Beneath such rule was but a word of shame ? 

How can ye say that pure religion dwelt 

Where cruel stock and torturing Avhip were felt ? 

W T here tott'ring age nor helpless youth was spared, 

And shrinking woman to the lash was bared ; 

Where, unprotected, to the forest wild 

Grandsire with hoary lock and infant child 

Alike were driven from each happy home, 

Through cold, bleak winter storms to houseless roam. 

Because they looked beyond what teachers told, 

They deemed them to the prowling arch-fiend sold ; 

And wisely thought their duty plain, to aid 

The fiendish host that 'gainst them were arrayed ; 

Who waited but the sign from godly hand 

To sweep their souls, rebellious, from the land — ■ 

Oh well might angels grieve at such a sight ! 

To see those men refuse the proffered light, 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 25 

Which would have quick dispelled the murky clouds 
That Bigotry's blind votary enshrouds, 
Might well from seraphs claim a pitying tear, 
Were tears not banished from their happy sphere. 
Once did their hearts to Freedom's plane aspire, 
Within their souls had blazed the holy fire ; 
They broke their bonds, and such a flood of light 
Burst full upon their trembling, startled sight, 
Uncertain, wav'ring for a while they gazed, 
At Freedom's boundless ocean stood amazed, 
Then back retired, and closed their wishful eyes, 
Fearful that gazing thus their souls would rise, 
And, rising, leave the path their fathers trod, 
Braving the vengeance of an angry God. 
Short-sighted fools ! and could you think 'twas sin, 
To thus on earth the upward course begin ? 
Dreamed ye that God would anger that ye sought 
To find the liberty his Spirit taught 
Was ready for your eager hand to grasp ? 
Or feared ye that your closing arms would clasp 
A fiend disguised unto each seeking heart, 
From which once clasping ye could never part ? 
Oh foolish man ! could wand'ring dream like this 
Deter ye from the angel-offered bliss ? 
Drive ye from cheering light of dawning day, 
Within night's chilling atmosphere to stay ? 
Bind you as 'twere with firmer, stronger chain, 
Down to the level, ne'er ascending plain. 
2 



26 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

Had ye but looked beyond that foolish thought, 
Received the truth that reason would have taught, 
Nor deemed it sin to God-like wisdom gain, 
The path of duty would have opened plain. 
Then naught within thy upward way to bar, 
No superstitious rock thy path to mar, 
None would have shame upon thy forehead read, 
None would have mourned thy liberty as dead. 
But some perchance will say, " Why dwell so long, 
Why make their deeds the burden of your song?" 
We answer not that we the whole would spurn, 
For much they did oppression's tide to turn ; 
'Twas nobly done in them to leave their land, 
And angels smiled as gathering on the strand 
They bid farewell to friends they -left behind, 
Rather than feel their struggling souls confined 
Within the narrow bounds, where, church and state 
Had bid them panting on their pleasure wait, 
Nor strive to soar, till bishops could agree 
How far 'twas safe the thinking mind to free ! 
'Twas nobly done to break those galling chains ; 
And all throughout the vast celestial plains, 
With speed of thought the joyful tidings ran, 
That light was dawning on misguided man ; 
And seraphs struck their shining harps anew 
As through their realms the happy tidings flew, 
For long their pitying hearts for man had bled, 
To see him blindly by false teachers led ; 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 27 

And now the chain is snapped, but ah ! they clasp 

The unlinked fragments still within their grasp. 

Touch not the unclean thing ! cast it away ! 

Thou dost with crawling, venomed serpent play ! 

That soon within its twining, shiny fold, 

Your hearts now free, as prisoners will hold. 

Alas ! they did not hear the warning word, 

Or some did not, and those that list'ning heard, 

Deemed it but one of the foul tempter's arts 

To sow the seeds of sin within their hearts : 

And thus again their slavish chains they kiss, 

And in their blind submission, dream of bliss. 

We blame them not that there they broke the chain. 

But that each link they riveted again ; 

Boasted of liberty to nations 'round, 

E'en while they strove to crush it to the ground ; 

Till their posterity take up the cry, 

Speak of their virtues — pass their vices by ! 

If here ye think we speak with words too strong, 

Retrace your steps, and see the bitter wrong 

Suffered by all who dare increase their speed 

Beyond the sluggish pace of those who lead. 

Then turn to warmer climes, and look with shame 

Upon the children of that church whose fame 

For bigot cruelty has filled the earth ; 

Beneath whose rule the torturing rack had birth ; 

As led by Baltimore they touch thy strand, 

America, the fetters leave each hand : 



28 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

Or seem to leave, and better it is so, 
Much will it save the race of future woe ; 
Though hand and feet they're bound by Romish chain, 
It is unseen, nor gives them half the pain 
That falls upon the soul which once was free. 
The wild-wood bird, whose home is forest tree, 
Confined, refuses evermore to sing, 
But beats its prison wires with fluttering wing ; 
_Presses against each bar its panting breast, 
In vain attempt to reach its forest nest ; 
While bird that's fledged within a golden cage, 
Against the gilded bars will never rage ; 
And though its prison door should open stand, 
. Will leave it not, but to caress the hand 
That shuts it from the light of Freedom's day ; 
There will it warble forth a merry lay, 
Then backward skip, nor try a farther flight, 
Unconscious that there is a freer light 
Than that which fills the curtained, pictured room — 
A twilight ray, which scarce dispels the gloom. 
Imprisoned are Rome's children like such bird, 
And Liberty's blest name have scarcely heard ; 
Nor have a wish to roam beyond the bounds 
Of " Mother Church" to seek forbidden grounds ; 
They have excuse : the light they never saw, 
And word from priest ordained to them is law ; 
Yet while themselves were bound, they bound not those 
Who sought their homes to 'scape oppressive woes, 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 29 

But, though they deemed them all unfit for heaven, 

Thought that to God alone the strength was given 

To turn them from such false, heretic path, 

Or doom their hardened souls to endless wrath ; 

r 
And there they found the rest which was denied 

By those who made their liberty their pride. 

But now we'll leave those early deeds behind, 

And see what in these later days we'll find 

To prove that Liberty a rest has found, 

America, upon thy favored ground, 

But pause to tell how Freedom's sons arose 

And into one combined their giant throes ; 

Severed the cords 'neath which they'd vainly groaned, 

Nor found redress from tyranny enthroned ; 

Though long obscured by gloomy clouds of night, 

Bravely and well they struggled for the right ; 

How bravely, all thy battle-fields can tell, 

And England's selfish monarch say how well 

Their liberty political they gained ; 

And he who o'er that distant region reigned, 

The brightest gem of all his kingdom lost, 

Because he did not count the future cost, 

But only thought him of the present gain ; 

Nor was that all, the deep, dark purple stain 

Of blood was resting, England, on thy throne ! 

And orphans' wail with wretched widows' groan 

Arose from every village of the land, 

For fathers, husbands, who on foreign strand — 



30 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

No friendly voice to soothe the parting breath — 

Were passing through the dreary vale of death. 

Now come we later ; still their freedom won, 

The race with distant nations has begun ; 

Till now the proudest are compelled to own 

The child, almost to parent's stature grown ; 

Each giant hand a mighty ocean grasps, 

And in its arms a hemisphere it clasps ; 

Or clasps a part and reaches for the rest, 

Which soon 'twill fold to its maternal breast ; 

Its fame for liberty, from pole to pole 

Has spread, till now there hardly lives a soul — 

Unless it dwells within a tyrant's form — 

Whose heart does not rebound with throbbings warm, 

While musing on the star of hope that beams 

From out the West to cheer its waking dreams. 

For they do sometimes dream of Liberty, 

And think of what their bleeding souls might be 

Could they, by one strong effort, break the chain 

And bid adieu to mountain, hill, and plain 

Where they have passed their happy childhood days ; 

Direct their course toward the cheering rays 

Which, ever darting from that western star, 

Seem as if shining there to guide afar 

The soul oppressed from tyranny's strong hand ; 

Directing it to Freedom's happy land ! 

And many break that chain — the soaring soul 

The love of home no longer can control ; 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 31 

But though the heart almost to breaking swell, 

Bids to its friends a long, a last farewell ; 

Takes parting look at each familiar scene., 

Alike on mountain wild and smiling green ! 

Gazes with anguish at the thought that these 

Behind must stay, while o'er the raging seas 

To Freedom's land it speeds its dreary way ; 

And thus they come ; each swiftly passing day 

Hails fresh arrivals on your welcome shore, 

And each succeeding day will usher more, 

Till waking Europe breaks her tyrant chains, 

Or sees but crumbling walls and desert plains. 

They've gained the promised land, but are they free 1 

Mark well each disappointed face, and see 

What struggling hearts by the exchange have made ! 

They have the promptings of their souls obeyed, 

Left all behind blest Liberty to find, 

Yet still they look with disaffected mind ; 

Their home is now where promised Freedom dwells, 

But still the thinking, acting mind rebels ; 

And why is this ? the cause to us is plain, 

The flesh is free, but with a double chain 

The spirit's bound ; what though the body free 

Can gaze upon vast plains of Liberty, 

TKe contrast is more marked ; 'twere best not know 

Of Liberty at all, than view it so. 

But why not best ? the gazing soul will wake, 

And at such glorious sight its fetters shake 



32 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

With such new strength that they will, groaning, part, 

And give free access to the thinking heart. 

As pent-up fires that long have silent lain 

Beneath the smiling, ever -verdant plain, 

Linger in darkness but to gain fresh power, 

Then with volcanic mouth belch forth a shower 

That no resisting hand can ever stay, 

Till it has had its own triumphant 'way ; 

So is the fire that's kindled in the breast 

Of Freedom's sons, though it. may seem to rest, 

And all without serene and calm appear ; 

Though it should smoulder on from year to year, 

Each year but adds new fuel to the flame, 

Until some tyrant mind would bind fresh shame 

On the already crushed, o'erburdened heart, 

When with a sudden, overwhelming start, 

Resistless bursts the long impatient flame, 

Devouring all that bars its rightful claim, 

Till it has reached the long-desired goal — 

The highest point e'er reached by prisoned soul. 

We wander here, our duty 's not to say 

What future years will bring, but of to-day, 

Which loudly boasts of Liberty, to speak ; 

Commencing, first, abodes of wealth we'll seek ; 

With noisless step glide through each gorgeous room, 

Nor fear reproof from some officious groom ; 

List to the words that fall from beauty's tongue, 

And judge by them if what we seek, among 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 33 

The fortune-favored few is to be found ; 
Or if it dwells on ruder, humbler ground ; 
Traverse with me this busy, crowded street, 
Nor wonder if at every step ye meet 
Imploring age, that vainly sues for bread, 
By side of youth whose jeweled arm would shed 
Joy's cheering light on many a sinking heart, 
Would it but with those glittering trinkets part ; 
Start not, nor wonder if your eye should see, 
Clad in her robes of gaudy tinselry, 
The child of guilt with brazen, shameless face, 
In contact close with one, whose solemn pace 
And sable suit, speak him ordained of man 
To tell us that our life is but a span — 
Prepare our souls for death's dark, misty vale, 
And teach us how to furl the swelling sail 
When heavenly breezes blow too fresh and strong, 
Threat'ning to waft our little bark along 
Toward the happy shore with greater speed 
Than the more bulky crafts of those that lead. 
Heed not such sight, the ever-shifting throng 
Promiscuously mingled move along ; 
Awhile, at least, they cast away their pride, 
Nor pause to ask if wealth is by their side ; 
Here flutt'ring rags with costly garments play, 
And humblest stuffs with India's fabrics gay, 
In wild confusion wildest colors blend, 
To which exhausted eye can see no end ; 
2* 



34 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

Nor longer tries to separation make ; 

Where chaos orders, station seems to take. 

But now the busy crowd is growing less, 

The careless laugh, the wailings of distress 

Which, but a moment since, fell on our ear, 

Less frequent sound — for we are drawing near 

Where gold, the god so many worship, reigns, 

A monarch absolute o'er his domains, 

Or only yields to his companion pride, 

Who, shadow -like, is ever by his side. 

See princely mansions proudly rear their heads, 

And lavish wealth its glitt'ring mantle spreads 

On all around, for e'en the plebeian street — 

As if aware aristocratic feet 

Honored its pavement by their dainty tread — 

Hastens each morn its dingy coat to shed, 

And angry that the coarse brogan has press'd 

Where tiny slipper, pure as cygnet's breast, 

Should hold a rightful,* undisputed claim, 

Forgets its origin, and thinks it shame 

That vulgar dust from weary feet of toil 

The polished walks of bloated Avealth should soil. 

Now up these polished marble steps we'll go, 

Whose glittering white would match unsullied snow; 

Stay not for those whose duty 'tis to wait, 

To bow admittance, and of service prate ; 

But pass in spirit to the inner-room. 

Unseen by pettish maid or surly groom ; 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 35 

There rest awhile, and wait what will appear. 
By what we see, but more by what we hear, 
Judge if the home of Freedom ye have found; 
But while we wait fear not to gaze around; 
Awhile the pleasure with the owner share, 
And feast your sight with gems and vases rare : 
Nor fear that any will dispute your right — 
Invisible to all but Spirit-sight. 
What mighty change has a few moments wrought! 
Where hungry age a wretched morsel sought, 
To longer stay the fainting, famished life ; 
Postpone a while with death the fatal strife ; 
A moment since we stood and sadly gazed 
Upon the woful sight — but now, amazed, 
Within wealth's favorite abode we stand ; 
Where rich products from nearly every land 
Are scattered 'round ; from richly frescoed walls, 
In easy folds the silken drapery falls, 
And blends with colors rare from Persia's loom, 
That almost seem as yielding sweet perfume : 
So perfect are the glowing flowers inwove, 
For art has here so well with nature strove 
That life alone is wanting, to complete 
A perfumed, flowered walk beneath our feet. 
Here polished marble from Italia's beds 
Reflects the light, and ebon luster sheds 
On soft luxurious lounge and easy chair ; 
While from their costly frames, with life-like stare, 



36 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

Gay beauties smile — works of a master hand — 
The richest treasures of that favored land 
Of glowing sky and ever-genial air, 
Whose noble works of art and beauty rare, 
The artist worships and the poet sings ; 
Whose splendid mansions, once abodes of kings — 
Though sadly changed — of ancient grandeur speak, 
That o'er the earth beside 'twere vain to seek. 
But while we gaze, methinks I hear you say, 
" What perfect joy must in this mansion stay, 
And what we seek must have a dwelling found 
Upon this glittering, wealth-enchanted ground." 
Haste not to judge till thou dost farther look — 
And hark ! from out that gorgeous cushioned nook 
Whose splendor with Arabia's tales might vie, 
Ascends a smothered, heart-despairing sigh ! 
A moment stilled, then, rising to a moan, 
Such as a crushed and bleeding heart alone 
Can breathe, when its last, only hope has fled, 
And dark despair its darkest robe has shed 
To cover with its gloomy, sable folds, 
The victim its remorseless clutches holds ! 
You start, and wonder how such grief can be 
Where cause for happiness alone you see : 
A moment wait, then gaze with inner-sight — 
Whose rays reflected make the darkness light — 
Till you the heart can see, and joy or grief 
As plainly read as if 'twere printed leaf. 






AMERICAN FREEDOM. 37 

The gift is yours, and now 'tis yours to trace 

The grief that in wealth's gay, enchanted place 

Dares to intrude its dark, unhallowed form, 

Turning its rich, luxurious calm to storm ! 

The heart unvailed is now before your eyes, 

From whose sad depths those wailing moans arise ; 

Peruse each leaf of that fair being's life, 

From childhood's happy hour, to years when strife 

To conquer nature's first, best law of love, 

Her happy songs, pure as the gentle dove 

In love's own whisperings murmurs to its mate, 

Changed into sad bewailings for her fate. 

First on the title-page we read but peace, 

And as we farther turn her joys increase ; 

Each want supplied, her early wish fulfilled, 

Did aught her fancy please, she only willed 

And gold, the talisman that rules the earth, 

Soon as the wish within her brain had birth, 

The treasure coveted unto her brought, 

Nor e'er refused whate'er the boon she sought. 

But now the page we blotted find with tears, 

And cheering hope with chill, despairing fears 

Each leaf combines, forbidding us to tell 

If beaming smiles that rose, or tears that fell 

In their dominion, shared an equal part — 

Or which as subject, longest ruled the heart. 

And dimly seen on the disfigured leaf — 

Blotted and soiled by tears of anguished grief — 



38 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

We read of one who bore a humble name, 

Who, though his deeds the brazen trump of Fame 

Had never sounded to applauding crowds, 

In haunts of woe, where want the mind enshrouds, 

Was ever found, relieving each distress ; 

And outcast wretches knew him but to bless. 

For e'en the vilest, pity in him found, 

And though he lacked the gold to scatter 'round, 

And Poverty had claimed him as her son, 

The comfort he had brought, the good deeds done, 

Were more acceptable than mines of gold 

Without that sympathy, whose worth untold 

Exceeds the riches of Australian hills, 

Whose roaring torrents and whose murm'ring rills 

Alike are bedded with the yellow earth, 

The strife for which gives wrong and outrage birth. 

It speaks of him, and tells how they had met, 

For oft with tears her drooping lids were wet 

While gazing on some scene of squalid woe ; 

And, angel-like, unnoticed she would go 

Often, to cheer some fainting, dying form, 

Where him she met ; but why her heart beat warm 

When he appeared, as yet she could not tell, 

Nor either dreamed that love its binding spell 

Was weaving 'round their mingling, trusting souls ; 

Nor, that Affinity, whose law controls 

The secret movings of each beating heart, 

Had in their meeting taken active part. 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 39 

And thus unconscious passed the happy hours ; 

No dark'ning cloud to threaten future showers : 

The time's delay, till they again could meet, 

Each heart would chide ; then Paradise complete 

When it approached, would deem that they had found, 

Nor wish again to leave the hallowed ground. 

Thus blindly did they live, nor dreamed of love, 

But thought the blessing sent them from above 

To cheer them in their self-devoted task, 

And deemed it better pay that they would ask, 

To feel new joys upspringing in each breast, 

From sparkling founts that never seemed to rest ; 

They rightly judged, for love 's a blessing sent, 

A gift from heavenly spheres, awhile that's lent 

To smooth the youth of rudimental life, 

To calm the final, mortal, dreaded strife, 

When spirits burst their narrow, useless shell 

And soar away in brighter forms to dwell, 

Cheering the soul until the struggles o'er ; 

Then first upon the angel-crowded shore 

Giving it welcome through some seraph face, 

Whose absent image long has held a place 

Sacred, enshrined within that faithful heart ; 

So deep that even death's destructive dart — 

Though years have fled since from the earth it passed — 

Upon it fails to e'en a shadow cast. 

There reuniting hearts already one, 

Love finds its ministry but just begun ; 



40 



ERICAN FREEDOM. 



And ever through eternity is found 
Its welcome chain encircling hearts around. 
But soon a change came o'er their happy dreams — 
Dark clouds obscured the bright reviving beams 
'Neath which they unmolested long had basked — 
Nor in their present joy the future asked 
If such blest peace could always with them rest — 
Content that then they felt it in each breast. 
But thus it ever is with earthly joy ! 
When at its highest point, the base alloy 
With which it mingles gains a partial sway, 
And turns to deadly night the cheerful day, 
Reminding those who would, without it, think 
The founts of earthly bliss from which they drink 
Were all-sufficient for immortal thirst, 
That they were now enjoying but the first 
•Imperfect taste of what, as ages roll 
Their endless rounds, unto the seeking soul 
Will bring increasing bliss, such as the thought, 
Though fancy's wildest dreams were to it brought, 
And into one her changing shape should blend 
To aid the task, so dim would comprehend 
That should it, struggling, make attempt to tell, 
Though 'twere surrounded by the purest spell 
That angels throw upon the mortal frame, 
Spirits progressed would bow themselves with shame 
That such a dull, imperfect glimpse was given 
Of the increasing, perfect joys of heaven ! - 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 41 

But why do clouds obscure the joyful light ? 

Why is the page, but now so clear and bright, 

Defaced and soiled by burning tears of grief? 

The reason's plain — the words that tell it brief: 

She in wealth's dazzling circle moves around, 

While he in humble walks of life is found. 

A slave to wealth, she ever by her side 

To counsel her, finds wealth's companion, pride — ■ 

Who, adder-like, has whispered to her heart 

That poverty with her can have no part ; 

That she must banish from her mind the past, 

Or lose forever in wealth's state her caste. 

Then the fierce struggle in her soul begun, 

Nor ceased till pride the victory had won : 

'Till she the monster sacrifice had made ; 

Her soul's affections on wealth's altar laid ; 

Condemned to nothingness her wretched heart, 

And with another left a blighting smart. 

And thus, go where you will throughout the land 

Where gold has laid its with'ring yellow hand, 

Despairing sobs and stifled, hopeless sighs, 

Like moaning winds on every side arise 

From souls, whose feet the sea of -Freedom laves, 

That yield themselves to pride as willing slaves. 

They claim themselves as free, and make their boasts 

That, though against them Europe sent her hosts, 

Before they'd yield them to her giant hand, 

Their heart's best blood should moisten all the land ; 



42 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

But while they boast, to tyrant pride's control 

They yield unblushing the immortal soul -; 

With them, the worthless Freedom that we find 

Pampers the body but enslaves the mind ! 

With disappointed hearts we pass the door, 

And try if with the struggling, honest poor, 

The treasure that we seek has found the rest 

It vainly sought in wealth's enchanted nest. 

Mount with me up this tottering, crazy stair, 

And try each crumbling step with guarded care, 

For age its unmistaken seal has placed 

Upon each board, forbidding careless haste. 

With wary step grope through the darkened hall ; 

Though chilling damps should on your spirit fall, 

In silence pass along, nor heed the chill ; 

With noiseless feet o'er the decaying sill 

Advance into the dreary, tireless room ; 

Your eyes accustom to the cheerless gloom ; 

Sufficient is one glance the tale to tell, 

That here oppression 's left a dead'ning spell ; 

That worse than Southern slavery is here ; 

For slaves to want, to wretchedness, and fear, 

Groan 'neath a bondage heavier to bear ; 

While chains that Afric's sons would faint to wear, 

By cursed monopoly 'round them are thrown ; 

And though beneath their crushing weight they groan; 

They're forced to hug each cruel, torturing link, 

Or find themselves suspended on the brink 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 43 

Of famine's dark abyss, from which 'tis vain 

To look for help, but to that grinding chain 

Which hardly serves to keep them from the fall — 

Yet in return, unpitying, claims their all 

See, by the dim, uncertain taper's light, 

Where deep into the middle hours of night 

A wretched woman bows her to the toil ; 

Drives back the blinding tears least they should spoil 

The work that from her heart the life-blood drains, 

To swell some heartless monster's daily gains ; 

While he, perchance, who feeds his bloated wealth, 

Unmindful of their tears, their wasting health, 

On toil thus wrung from famished woman's hand, 

Is praised for goodly deeds throughout the land ; 

Coins mints of gold from widows' bleeding hearts, 

Then with a trifle of his riches parts 

For ostentatious charity, till fools 

Who are not deeply learned in wisdom's schools, 

Applaud him for the noble, gen'rous deed ; 

While those who coin his gold in sorest need 

Toil hopeless on, no pitying hand to save — 

And find at last, unknelled, a pauper's grave ! 

Can this be so 1 — on Freedom's sacred soil 

Do feeble women, scarcely resting, toil, 

And with their hands the gains of monster men 

Increasing swell 1 — 'Tis vain for mortal pen 

To make attempt to write the word of shame 

That should be written o'er each wretch's name, 



44 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

Who dares to live upon the torturing sweat 

With which the weary brow of toil is wet. 

Methinks that ever when he reads his name 

In glaring letters on the scroll of fame, 

As one whose deeds of charity, are known 

Throughout the land, each victim's dying groan 

Should ring its fearful changes in his ear — 

Each heavy sigh, each burning, struggling tear 

Forced from the hearts that his oppressive hand 

Has crushed, and shaped to yield to his command, 

In one should gather on the sullied spot, 

And from fame's page his worthless name should blot 

Methinks when he Heaven's ample blessing seeks 

Upon the board that more than plenty speaks, 

The thought of those who earned that bounteous meal 

By hours of agony, should o'er him steal, 

Forbidding him the grace of God to ask 

Upon the food wrung from their midnight task ; 

That o'er him such a tide of shame should flow 

As the uncalled, unasked-for scene of woe 

Before his guilty, trembling soul was brought 

By the unwelcome, momentary thought, 

That he should loathe but now the welcome meat, 

Nor dare of his unholy gains to eat. 

But from the scene with bleeding hearts we turn, 

Sadly acknowledge we have much to learn 

Of slavery's bond that, in the borrow'd garb 

Of Liberty, with secret, venom'd barb, 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 45 

Ranges the land from North to Southern pole, 

Alike on servant and on master's soul, 

With hand unsparing, sets the shameful seal 

That unborn souls will yet most keenly feel. 

Where shall we look for. Freedom, if it dwells 

Not in these gloomy, worse than prison cells ? 

For in abodes of pride it finds no rest. 

But ah ! new hope upsprings within my breast ! 

A noble hall its shadows 'cross the way 

Inviting throws, as wishing us to stay ; 

And o'er the sculptured porch revived I read 

Fair wisdom here — whose duty 'tis to lead 

The knowledge-seeking mind — her dwelling makes : 

And from despondency my soul awakes ; 

For blessed Freedom we shall surely find 

Where wisdom guides the knowledge-seeking mind. 

What place so fit for Liberty to stay 

As where unfettered minds can soar away, 

And in the smiling morn of buoyant youth 

From wisdom's fount drink in refreshing truth ? 

With lightened heart we pass the open door, 

Rejoicing that our search at length is o'er ; 

Ascend the well-worn stairs, traverse the hall, 

Nor heed the mingled roar of words that fall 

In sentences confused upon the ear ; 

But onward glide unseen, till, drawing near, 

The senseless buzz is changed to ordered speech, 

From those that learn alike with those that teach. 



46 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

Here by this noble youth a moment pause ; 

The beaming soul for each effect seeks cause 

That darts with lightning glance from his proud eye, 

While labored breath and deep, unconscious sigh 

Bespeaks within a struggling, panting soul, 

That will not tamely yield to the control 

Of minds that fain would check its upward way, 

Forbidding it from beaten paths to stray. 

Determination on that brow is stamped, 

And tells the soul within will ne'er be cramped 

By narrow bounds that bigot minds would trace, 

And in their ignorance call holy place ; 

Name all beyond as Satan's dark domains, 

Because their heads, with not sufficient brains 

To even comprehend the rolling earth, 

Where first their conscious spirit had its birth, 

Would others bind unto the groveling plain 

O'er which they plod, but find their efforts vain ; 

For minds like his will ne'er submit to crawl, 

Though all the thunders of the Church should fall 

With fiendish fury on his noble head ; 

Though o'er him the blasphemous curse were read, 

His soul consigning to Satanic power, 

Fearless and firm he'd breast the fearful shower ; 

Smile with contempt as roll the clouds away, 

That they should think their idle threats could stay 

The soul which once has drunk from wisdom's fount, 

Whose feet have trod upon her sacred mount. 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 47 

But see ! with sober pace one comes this way, 
Whose raven locks, besprinkled thick with gray, 
And forehead high, furrowed with manly cares, 
With restless eye, such as the spirit wears 
From long-continued strife, bespeaks the man, 
Who, when the light of reason's sun began 
To dart its first faint beams upon his soul, 
Instead of yielding to the blest control, 
Commenced against his better nature, strife ; 
Advised by fools, applied the bigot knife 
Called Mystery, to what his youthful mind 
In ancient, musty records could not find, 
To God's unchanging, perfect laws explain ; 
And by that foolish deed, to years of pain 
His active spirit doomed ; for minds as strong, 
As quick as his, soon feel the bitter wrong 
That on the free, immortal soul they cast, 
By looking only to the ancient past 
For truths that God has stamped upon the sky, 
Unvailed and free to e'en the lowest eye — 
Truths that his thunders speak, his lightnings show ; 
That o'er the blooming earth, where'er you go, 
In shapes unnumber'd smile beneath your feet ; 
That gentle winds in whisp'rings mild repeat ; 
Then changing to the wild tornado's roar, 
Re-echo from the east to western shore. 
Truths that appear when gentle, balmy spring, 
From nature's store renascent foliage brings 



48 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

To deck the trees, but now so drear and bare ; 
That loudly speak, when bleak, autumnal air 
Each quiv'ring leaf folds in its chill embrace, 
Then onward whirls, leaving the fearful trace 
That marks its visit, in the vivid glow, 
Which, like the colors of the fleeting bow, 
A moment gladden our enraptured sight — 
Each fresh embrace but adding tints more bright, 
Till from the north a rougher, keener blast 
Comes wailing on, and then, its glory past, 
Torn from its parent limb, the trembling leaf 
(While moans the wind as in repentant grief, 
At the sad work its blustering kiss has made), 
Sinks flutt'ring down upon the forest glade, 
His duty ended ; well content to rest 
Alone, unnoticed, on the lowly breast 
From which it sprung — forsaking truths as plain 
As these, for written truth, is labor vain ; 
And such the thinking, acting, honest mind, 
Sooner or later to its shame will find. 
For strife will ever in that bosom dwell — 
Making its earthly paradise a hell — 
That deems it sin for God's decrees to look 
Except in ancient-written " Holy Book." 
And such a strife has raged within the breast 
Of him that now appears ; but if the rest 
That it so long has sought, his soul has found, 
Or if it lingers still on neutral groimi, 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 49 

We listen for his coming speech to tell ; 
For he is questioned, to disperse the spell 
That dark mythology has blindly cast 
O'er the enticing study of the past, 
Till truths intended for the common eye 
Beneath its many folds so deeply lie 
That scarce a ray of their true light appears. 
But hark ! the words now greet our listening ears 
That, to the mind of one, at least, will tell 
(Driving afar the hateful, blinding spell), 
The truth for which it eager panting seeks — 
But ah ! what means the chilling word he speaks ? 
Instead of bidding it the knowledge gain, 
He tells the seeker that 'tis worse than vain 
To seek the mystery of God to know ; 
Charges the years of misery and woe 
That he has suffered to his stubborn heart, 
Because it fain would know what active part 
'Twas destined in some future age to take ; 
Bids it take heed, and not too freely slake 
His raging thirst from wisdom's dangerous stream ; 
But rather of the future blindly dream 
Than seek with wicked, sacrilegious eye 
The awful mystery of God to try. 
The mystery of God ! that bugbear word, 
From the pretended lips of wisdom heard ; 
Taught in the schools, from every pulpit preached, 
Methinks that word — its noon of glory reached 
3 



50 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

In ages past, when scarce a ray of light 

Illumed the earth — should long ere this to-night, 

Dark as the dreary shade itself would cast, 

From wisdom's catalogue of words have passed. 

The mystery of God ! oh, simple man — 

Because the life that hours and moments span, 

Suffices not the universe to grasp ; 

Because your weak, your feeble, infant clasp 

Can not retain the orb that gives thee light, 

Withhold it from its God-directed flight 

Around the central, great Creative Mind ; 

Because your puny arm has failed to bind 

Even the smallest of the glittering train 

That course obedient through the boundless plain ; 

Because they stay not, at your beck, their speed, 

Till you their unknown history can read, 

You prate of mystery, and think it sin 

To heavenly wisdom on the earth begin ; 

Or deem such blessed wisdom sin at least, 

Unless received from written word or priest. 

Think you that God would laws mysterious make, 

Forbidding works of his own hand to slake 

The thirst himself created, at the spring 1 

By vain desire a settled, hopeless sting 

Fixing upon their ever active souls 1 

Not such the law that human mind controls ; 

Though we its workings dimly comprehend, 

A pleasure 'tis to through its windings wend, 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 51 

And, step by step, as perfect laws we trace, 

To find divinity stamped on their face, 

And ever feel that something still before 

Was beck'ning, bidding us to grasp for more ; 

For were all knowledge gained, our bliss would end ; 

And thoughts of an eternity to spend 

With naught to lose, and nothing still to gain, 

Would on the senses pall, creating pain, 

And heaven, the place where joy alone should dwell, 

Would harbor grief, the attribute of hell ; 

With naught to learn, eternity would be 

A plain unbroken, an unruffled sea, 

On which would float the weary, fainting soul, 

And think in gaining rest it gained the whole : 

But long it would not listless, idly dream 

For rest, devoid of future hope, would seem 

To all who bear the principle of life, 

As deeper punishment than years of strife ; 

For though, to those who only dream of years, 

Rest from their grief a paradise appears, 

When they could rightly, truly comprehend 

Eternity, their paradise would end ; 

No soul so idle but it soon would spurn 

Eternity of rest, with naught to learn ; 

No soul, howe'er so much it longs for rest, 

But torments keen would feel within its breast, 

And sooner choose its earthly grief to bear 

Than senseless robes of idleness to wear. 



52 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

No wonder such a paradise as this — 

A settled state of unprogressive bliss — 

Unto the soaring angel-mind should seem 

As rest inglorious, or as idle dream ; 

Nor that the bliss of ease should fail to bind, 

To unprogressive ignorance, the mind ! 

No wonder mythologic lore should tell 

How angry hosts did 'gainst their God rebel ! 

But where the wonder of the tale should rest 

Is here — that deep within each angel-breast 

God had implanted an impure desire 

To up toward his sacred throne aspire ; 

Had sowed the seeds of discord through the host, 

That he could in some distant future boast 

Of strength infinite, of resistless hand, 

That with one wave had swept the rebel band 

To shades infernal in disordered haste ; 

And all for what 1 because they strove to taste 

Of more exalted joys, impelled by .thirst 

Himself created, then pronounced accurst. 

Here lies the wonder of that liquid tale : 

Methinks, as upward from the happy vale 

In circles floated the vast, mighty throng, 

Impelled by hope the shining way along, 

He, who created in their breasts desire, 

Who kindled in their hearts the raging fire 

That's ever asking, like the leech, for more, 

Should, as he glanced their coming legions o'er, 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 53 

Have given welcome words instead of wrath ; 

Assisted them to mount the heavenly path, 

Nor augured that they, struggling, strove to gain 

The highest point of that celestial plain. 

Divinity, methinks, should smiling greet 

The panting souls that with unwearied feet 

The height had gained, and whisper to each mind, 

That still beyond more perfect truths they'd find ; 

Nor upward aspirations strive to crush, 

Nor thoughts itself created wish to hush. 

But why do I thus ling'ring here delay 1 

Why mourning o'er perverted wisdom stay 1 

'Tis vain for Liberty in halls to seek, 

Where it is treason deemed of God to speak, 

Only as one mysterious and stern, 

Whose ways inscrutable we ne'er can learn ; 

Where souls to Satan's rule are given o'er, 

Should they attempt beyond the chain to soar, 

Thrown, by tradition, across wisdom's path, 

Where minds inquiring are, with holy wrath — 

Because they dare to reason, dare to think — 

Branded as infidels and left to sink ; 

The curses of the Church against them hurled, 

Scorned and neglected by the pious world. 

Retrace your steps, pass through the opened door, 

Nor grieve that disappointment rankles sore 

Within, but now, your gladdened, hope-cheered breast, 

That Liberty e'en here can have no rest ; 



54 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

For wisdom will not ever, crouching, lay- 
Beneath tradition's folds, but soar away ; 
The chain which it so long has dreaded spurn, 
For, by attempt, its brittleness 'twill learn ; 
E'en now it more than half suspects the truth, 
And, in the minds of ardent, fearless youth, 
Its ruffled pinions plumes, prepares for flight, 
And soon, before the wond'ring, startled sight 
Of earth's inhabitants, 'twill upward soar 
And bliss in ignorance be taught no more ; 
But till that joyful time her halls we'll leave 
Cumbered with idols ; her debasement grieve, 
But not as those who grieve without a hope, 
For cursed slavery can not ever cope 
Successfully against the dazzling beams 
That reason's sun directs, from " idle dreams," 
The slumb'ring thousands of the earth to 'wake. 
Unsatisfied as yet, our course we'll take 
To where yon tow'ring spire points to the sky, 
Hasten within its sacred shade, to try 
If there, beneath its consecrated dome, 
The world-neglected treasure 's found a home. 
A massive structure, comely to the eye, 
It now appears ; and ev'ry passer by- 
Gazes with awe upon its silent walls, 
Which still increases, until, wearied, falls 
The eye, and wond'ring, 'neath its shadows sees 
The wretch whose sunken cheek and trembling knees, 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 55 

Louder than words, of want and suff'ring speak ; 
Whose feeble voice, with age and hunger weak, 
Imploring bread, quick changes fancy's flight 
From airy regions — where the gorgeous sight 
Had sent it, dwelling on the power of will, 
By means supported, wonders to fulfill — 
To what the labor lavished on each stone 
Of the huge pile before them, might have done, 
Rightly controlled, the suffering to ease — 
Each passing moment 'neath their shadow sees. 
But we've at last the lofty entrance reached ; 
And, as the Christian gospel here is preached, 
The lamb-like Jesus for a pattern taught, 
Who ever for the low and needy sought ; 
Who deemed it duty's privilege to bind 
The broken heart, to cheer the fainting mind 
That want almost had driven to despair ; 
'Twere better robes of poverty to wear, 
And visible unto the sight appear, 
That followers of his, who worship here, 
May with extended hand our coming greet, 
And offer by their side the vacant seat. 
Thus we in clean, though tattered robes, arrayed, 
With hollow cheeks, as famine had the shade 
Upon us thrown — that it alone can cast — 
Have through the lofty, creaking portals passed ; 
And now on carpets rich, through hallowed aisle 
With muffled step advance, then pause awhile 



56 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

And view the fretted roof, where arches rim 
Their thousand lines, till mingled into one 
They seem like giant forest trees that weave 
Their limbs compact, nor smallest opening leave 
For heaven's free light to through the net-work stray ; 
And, though a beam is flitting 'cross the way, 
Upon its native purity 's a stain — • 
Caught in its passage through the colored pane, 
Which, with its thousand mates, a varied hue 
Gives*to each wand'ring ray that struggles through — 
Bat soon the eye, bewildered -with the sight 
•Of ornaments unnumbered, that the light, 
Arranged and softened by the artist's hand, 
From frescoed walls, life-like, has made to stand, 
Confused and wearied, to the cushioned seats 
Sinks listless down ; but there it, startled, meets 
Fresh cause for wonder, when the glitt'ring show 
It finds itself comparing with the woe 
That's felt by those outside the massive walls, 
Who, where the shadow of that building falls, 
Day after day in vain implore for bread, 
Nor hope for rest, but with the silent dead. 
But onward move, for eyes reproving turn 
From every side, as to our business learn ; 
And looks of scorn greet us in every glance ; 
Thus, uninvited, we our only chance 
For rest discern in yonder vacant seat, 
Which we approach, but to resistance meet ; 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 57 

The Christian owner, fearful lest the poor 
Who sometimes venture through the sacred door, 
Should dare to claim the vacant, cushioned pew, 
Where satins rich and flowers of every hue 
Monthly appear, has bolted fast the door, 
And all our dreams of Christian love are o'er; 
The temple has become a market-place 
Where wealth is honored, poverty disgraced ; 
Where right to hear the word of God is soid, 
And heaven's passports bought with paltry gold. 
But one approaches ; willing we suspend 
Our condemnation till we see the end ; 
For should one soul, who bears a Christian name, 
Of all the throng, without a blush of shame 
For our imagined wants a pity feel, 
And invitation give with him to kneel, 
Awhile forget his consequential pride, 
Proffer the vacant seat- that's by his side, 
We'd willing yield that he, who bore the name, 
Had gained a partial right at least, to claim 
Himself as follower of the Spirit meek, 
Who, with the humble fisherman would speak 
In pref 'rence to the wisest of the land ; 
Who ne'er refused to give the welcome hand 
And with endearing name of brother, hail 
The lowest wretch of all the earthly vale. 
And now, perchance, the man who comes this way 
Deems it a blessed privilege to obey 
3* 



58 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

The teachings of that pure, that gentle breast, 
Where pity for the humblest found a rest ; 
But why does he each step of his advance, 
Return inquiring look with scornful glance ? 
And why where should be seen the pitying tear, 
Rests on his face that bitter, cruel sneer 1 
Can tattered robes and famine-hollowed cheek, 
Can silvery locks that age and sorrow speak, 
Be deemed objections to an entrance here ? 
We soon shall know, for now approaching near 
To us he speaks — he bids us leave the place, 
Nor thus, presumptuous, dare to show the face 
Of poverty again within the door ; 
Nor dare profane with vulgar foot the floor 
Which has been consecrated scarce a week 
As dwelling of the Lord, where he can speak, 
Through ministers appointed, to the world ; 
Where Christian banners have been late unfurled, 
Their mottoes sculptured on the fretted walls, 
" Good-will to men"—" the Gospel free to all." 
The Gospel free ? what mockery is this, 
When gold must pave the path that leads to bliss ! 
Good-will to men 1 quick, quick the words erase, 
That they have been, leave not the faintest trace ; 
But, on the tablets where they stood, engrave, 
While truth approving doth her pinions wa' e, 
" Here bow the knee if thou hast gold to pay, 
And to the great ' I Am 1 in comfort pray ; 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 59 

If thou hast none, depart unblessed, nor dare 
Attempt to mingle with the polished prayer 
That from the proud, the wealthy, here ascends ; 
Thy uncouth language, which but poorly blends 
With liquid words, that, in the mode approved 
By latest fashion, seem as if they moved 
From beauty's lips, impelled by ease along ; 
Not from the heart, but like some careless song 
Which has its birth upon the thoughtless tongue, 
The sentiment forgotten ere 'tis sung." 
Engrave such words as these upon thy walls 
And truth, at least, will dwell within thy halls ; 
But never more within this building dare 
Allow a falsehood, plain as this, to stare 
The humble, truthful seeker in the face ; 
For if a constant effort to erase 
The word offending is but labor vain, 
Your duty then, it seems, would tell you plain 
These glaring opposites to reconcile 
By opening to the poor each gorgeous aisle, 
That famished souls, who scarcely yet have heard 
Of their Creator, may receive the word 
And feel, upspringing in each saddened breast, 
The feeble hope that they can find the rest 
They've vainly sought for on the selfish earth, 
When their freed spirits have the promised birth 
In spheres that circle 'bove the sensuous plane, 
Where heavenly joys, unmixed with earthly pain, 



60 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

They'll even feel, nor fear from spirit born 
To e'er receive the cruel looks of scorn 
That, through their pilgrimage in t mortal frames, 
Have ever greeted their uuhonored names. 
Again outside the walls, we've only learned 
That from the house of God the poor are spurned, 
Which speaks not well for Liberty's abode ; 
Yet once again we'll try the sacred road 
In which it seems so difficult to stay; 
And now, methinks, that " narrow is the way 
And few there be who find it," we've been told ; 
But that 'twas only found by aid of gold, 
. We've never heard ; perchance the secret lies 
In wealth alone, for which the good and wise 
Of every age have sought ; if this be so, 
We who have suffered will the secret know. 
A moment will suffice us for the change, 
These tattered rags to costly folds arrange, 
And now, with footing firm and head erect, 
With glance which claims as rightful due respect, 
Wearing our e archly wealth upon our backs — 
In this we only follow in the tracks 
Of many who have passed the inner door — 
Again the consecrated threshold o'er 
We proudly step — what wondrous change is wrought ! 
AVhat servile cringing has our garments brought ! 
The man who, but a moment since, the door 
With rudeness showed us, bows him to the floor ; 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 61 

Our entrance welcomes with officious haste, 
And foolishly unconscious of the waste 
Of words polite, bows us within the aisle, 
Where doors are opened with obliging smile, 
And seats that but a moment since seemed filled, 
As if some power mysterious had willed 
Increasing room, find still a vacant place, 
Which courteous owners with inviting face, 
That scarce a moment back with scorn and pride, 
Greeted our presence — offer by their side ; 
And we accept with condescending grace 
The cushioned, poverty-forbidden place, 
Resign ourselves awhile to silent thought, 
To speculation on the change that's wrought 
By scarce a moment's absence— 'tis not gold ! 
Were our possessions earthly to be sold, 
The one that bought would find it easy task, 
Be only for our robes obliged to ask ; 
And while we gaze around, we many see 
Who from the anxious cares of wealth are free ; 
Alike with us they rich possessions lack, 
Except the show of wealth upon the back ; 
Nor is it virtue, for we many find 
Beneath this roof of base, deceitful mind ; . 
And here we see, with sanctimonious face 
Within the highest, most exclusive place, 
The man, that fruits of vicious, sinful shame, 
Permit the most exalted seat to claim ; 



62 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

But here the secret of admission lies — 
Not in our wealth, for he indeed were wise 
Who could discern amid the varied throng 
Of costly robes, which did to wealth belong ; 
He is advanced in wisdom who can say, 
In this the noon of imitative day, 
Who imitates, and who has right to wear, 
Who part, and who their whole possessions bear 
Upon their backs ; of this they have no test, 
And so they bow them to the 'broidered vest ; 
To polished coats offer each vacant seat, 
And turn the coarser fabrics to the street. 
Virtue and goodness with an entrance here 
Have naught to do. Let angels drop a tear 
As Lthe fact humiliating speak — 
'Tis purity of cloth, not heart, they seek. 
The man who robs the widow of her mite, 
To worship in this sacred place has right, 
While she whose heart is wrung to furnish gold, 
For which this sacred privilege is sold, 
Lacking the passport to admittance here, 
With heart despairing and with gushing tear 
Is driven to her dreary room unblessed, 
Starving and prayerless sinks awhile to rest, 
No friend on earth from misery to save, 
And none to tell of hope beyond the grave. 
Oh, Liberty ! in vain for thee I seek ! 
Naught do I see thy presence here to speak ! 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 63 

The place where, of all others, thou shouldst dwell, 

Seems as surrounded by a triple spell 

Of slavery ; not only tyrant gold 

Confronts each entrance with his visage bold, 

But fashion throws her slavish mantle o'er 

Each soul that passes the emblazoned door ; 

While superstition, of the dreaded three 

The most tyrannical, enthroned we see 

In yonder desk, its vengeful thunders hurled 

We hear each hour against the erring world, 

Striving the germ of Liberty to crush, 

Watching with care each whispered thought to hush, 

Lest they should kindle fires in Freedom's breast, 

Which, faint and smould'ring, suit the tyrant best. 

Disgusted with the sight we leave our seat, 

Nor wish again our visit to repeat, 

But safer feel where to the public gaze 

Vice is exposed, than where disguised it prays, 

To outward eyes appearing spirit-bright, 

But to the inner gaze a thing of- night, 

Which darker grows the more it strives to hide 

Beneath that robe of sanctity and pride. 

Alas ! that followers of the Spirit pure, 

Who sight of misery could not long endure, 

Should dream they were obeying his commands, 

By proudly turning from imploring hands 

To kneel in prayer beneath this fretted dome, 

Whose ornaments alone would find a home, 



64 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

And hundreds furnish with a place of rest, 
Who now repose upon the earth's chill breast — 
Would turn to notes of joy the wailing sound 
That compasses these massive walls around. 
But from the W t est a mighty shout is heard, 
And men awaken at the magic word ; 
Their preparations make, with lightened heart, 
Nor grieve from comforts of their homes to part ; 
But leave Atlantic's bays with happy song, 
And on Pacific's shore by thousands throng. 
What joyful sound has made them cease to grieve 
That they behind must every comfort leave 1 
What is't attracts them to that distant shore ? 
'Tis not to listen to Pacific's roar — 
For the Atlantic, with her mountain waves, 
Makes sweeter music, where their father's graves 
By them neglected line her verdant shores ; 
And spring's reviving sun its blessing pours 
Alike on Eastern and on Western plain ; 
Each pleasure there receives its share of pain ; 
And waters sparkling on those Western hills, 
Can not surpass in purity the rills 
That dash adown the Eastern mountain's side — 
Then why should men, leaving the youthful bride, 
E'en at the altar, hasten to those hills ? 
What mighty power, that but a moment wills, 
Is followed by this moving, breathing host, 
Until vast cities line the Western coast ; 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 65 

Till wilds, that late re-echoed but the yell 

Of savage warrior, as enchanted spell 

Is resting on them, teem with busy life, 

And hewer's axe, instead of cruel knife, 

With jarring pick and rattling spade is heard ? 

In vain we strive to think what moving word 

Such fires can kindle in the human soul — 

But ah! perhaps we've nearly reached the goal! 

The prize we deemed as lost, perchance may rest 

On yonder shore — what, in the human breast 

But Liberty, could kindle such a flame ? 

And what, but sound of that neglected name, 

Could wake the slumb'ring thousands from their sleep, 

To leave, unmindful of the friends that weep, 

Each scene familiar for those mountains wild? 

What else, from sobbing wife and wond'ring child, 

Could loving husband, doting father part ? 

For what but Freedom could the tender heart 

Still the deep yearning for its childhood's home, 

Alone and friendless on those shores to roam ? 

It must be that — and now, rejoicing, speed 

We to those distant shores, nor e'er have need 

Of human aid to help our joyful flight ; 

For thought excels so much in speed the sight, 

Which darts so sudden through the distant space, 

That by its side, as sluggard's weary pace, 

The fearful lightning's blinding flash appears ; 

That, soon as sight its course commencing steers, 



66 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

Thought finishes the journey just begun ; 
Alike with thought the spirit-journey's done, 
Soon as it wills, the place it seeks is gained 
Ere time with age has e'en a moment stained. 
Now we thus will, and on Pacific's sand, 
"Unseen by those around us, gazing-stand, 
And, for a moment, scarcely feel the change, 
Nor, till your eyes take more extended range, 
Can realize that 'tis the distant ground 
For which wa sought ; for still the busy sound 
Of mingled voices greets the list'ning ear, 
And crowded streets on every side appear ; 
For here the Western, like the Eastern sky, 
By lofty blocks forbidden to the eye, 
In meager patches only can he seen ; 
And where but late was rude, uncultured green, 
With silence hardly broken by a sound, 
The dashing coach and rattling cart are found ; 
The lively green to dingy red gives place, 
Until there now is hardly left a trace 
That Nature unmolested here did reign, 
That solitude had dwelling on this plain. 
But yet no whisper of the magic word 
That wrought this sudden, wondrous change we've heard ; 
And seeking it, we'll join the moving throng- 
That, by it, seem as still impelled along ; 
They leave behind Pacific's wave-washed shore, 
Turn from the city's never-ceasing roar, 



JlMERICAN freedom. 67 

And, like the waves of a resistless tide, 

Sweep onward to the distant mountain's side ; 

Hope sits enthroned upon each weary face, 

Quickens the lagging, half exhausted pace 

As, near approaching to those cloud-capped hills, 

They hear the murmur of their dancing rills, 

And soon will learn the power that draws them here ; 

But in my soul upsprings a growing fear 

That disappointment, with her envious dart, 

Again stands ready to transfix my heart ; 

For now each eye upon the earth is bent, 

And avaricious glance around is sent 

From ev'ry soul of all this hurrying throng ; 

Such selfish glance we know can ne'er belong 

To votaries of Liberty — her name 

Was never coupled with that word of shame ; 

For he who seeks to robes of Freedom wear, 

Wishes the world that privilege to share ; 

But what besides could tempt them from each home, 

Through desolated wilds like these to roam ? 

Approach yon eager crowd — the story 's told ! 

The sacrifice is made for love of gold ; 

And looks of avarice no longer seem 

As out of place, for where the yellow gleam 

Of glitt'ring gold is found, av'rice a rest 

Is sure to gain, within the finder's breast. 

But can it be that man, who blindly sleeps 

When violated Freedom 'round him weeps; 



68 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

Who unmoved listens to despairing sighs 

Of mental slavery, heeds not wailing cries 

Of thousands 'round him, feels a kindling flame 

At sight of gold ? this, this indeed is shame ! 

If Liberty could waken half the fire 

That rages, kindled by gold's base desire ; 

Could cause the soul to half these dangers dare, 

The earth not long would chains of slavery wear ; 

One half the labor that is spent for gold, 

And thoughts divine could not be bought and sold ; 

The many would no longer to the few 

Yield blind obedience, but accept the true, 

The never-changing laws of God, for rule, 

As soon from Nature as Tradition's school. 

My spirit 's burdened with the sick'ning sight, 

And fain from earth would take its final flight ! 

Such sad debasement fills my soul with shame 

That ever I have borne an earthly name ! 

To see immortal spirits groping 'round, 

By chains of selfishness so firmly bound 

That e'en the dust they tread upon 's preferred 

To Liberty — the heaven-exalted word — 

Where gold, pronounced, would raise resistless flame, 

Failing to e'en a passing notice claim, 

Fills my sad, disappointed heart with grief, 

To which but absence can afford relief. 

But where can 1 absent myself from sight 

Of scenes like this ? if I direct my flight 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 69 

On backward path and gain thy Eastern shore, 
Not only do I find them to the ore 
Yielding, as slaves, the free, immortal mind; 
But pride and fashion are with wealth combined, 
While dread monopoly and bigot chains 
Make four-fold slavery on those fertile plains ! 
One place alone is left in all thy bounds — 
The smiling South — the wild, mysterious mounds 
Which scattered o'er thy Western prairies lie, 
Pass'd by the savage e'en in rev'rence by, 
As relicts of a mighty, extinct race, 
We've stood upon ; Ontario's ruffled face 
Have traveled o'er, and on thy Northern hills 
Listened to whispered songs from leaping rills ; 
Stood wond'ring at Niagara's deafening roar ; 
Inhaled Atlantic's breeze on Eastern shore 
In search of Liberty — where dashing waves, 
Like savage beast that 'gainst its prison raves, 
Upon Pacific's golden barriers rush, 
As if beneath their mountain weight to crush 
The tow'ring cliffs that ages long have stood, 
Like silent sentinels, to guard the flood ; 
We've sought for Freedom but have found it not, 
And now we'll turn us to that smiling spot 
W r here sons of chivalry are said to dwell ; 
For chivalry had ever Freedom's spell 
Entwining with it in its darkest hour ; 
When tyranny held undisputed power, 



70 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

Threat'ning to crush the soul that dared to speak 

Of outraged rights, whatever, for the weak ; 

Feared not to battle 'gainst the tyrant wrong ? 

'Twas chivalry ! and daring deeds in song 

Have often of her noble sons been told, 

Who, for the right, 'gainst mighty odds were bold. 

If chivalry, then, in its young, dawning day 

So much of Freedom had, what bright'ning ray 

Must now illume Columbia's verdant plains, 

Where sceptered tyranny no longer reigns 1 

What deeds beneath its ever genial sun 

Must daily by her votaries be done 

For Freedom's cause, of which we never hear ? 

Should on its broad savannas fall a tear 

From soul oppressed, quick would that tear be caught 

By some adventurous knight, the cause be sought, 

The proud oppressor made to feel the weight 

Of Freedom's arm, nerved by the righteous hate 

That dwells secure, unshaken in the breast 

Of chivalry, by groans of the oppressed 

Each day increased against the tyrant mind 

Who dares, unblushing, on his brother bind 

Burdens "neath which himself would sink to earth ; 

Scenes like to this, where chivalry has birth, 

Must every day be seen ; and where, for right 

Against the wrong, such overpowering might 

Is ever found, that wrong must surely end, 

And naught but songs of happiness ascend 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 71 

To greet the list'ning seraph's joyful ear. 

Those plains of promise now we're drawing near, 

And list to try if we can catch the strains 

Of joy, that fancy, on those Southern plains, 

Has bid arise in never-ceasing songs 

From smiling Liberty's enchanted throngs. 

But now an anguished shriek her vision breaks, 

And at the fearful cry my soul awakes 

To ask the meaning of that boding sound ; 

To make inquiry why this promised ground 

Should such a robe of desolation wear ; 

What mean the looks of unresigned despair 

That greet us now whichever side we turn ? 

Oh ! can it be that we have yet to learn, 

America, of deeper, darker stains, 

Marring the face of Freedom's boasted plains, 

Than soul-debasing, mantal slavery brings ? 

Fain would I hush the spirit-jarring strings 

I now must sweep to tell (Oh ! worse than shame ! 

That such a blot should rest upon thy name, 

Country of Washington !) that sinews, bone, 

Blood, flesh, and souls, from child to manhood grown, 

Alike with brutes are bartered here for gold — 

Husband from wife, and wife from husband sold ; 

The wailing infant from its mother's breast 

By lustful master torn, its place of rest 

Denied, for reasons best unto him known — 

For songs of joy, the tortured victim's groan, 



72 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

Writhing beneath the driver's cruel lash, 

Which leaves behind each blow a quiv'ring gash, 

Each moment can our list'ning spirits hear ; 

Oh ! could that shame by angel's spotless tear 

Be washed, Columbia, from thy favored shore, 

From spheres celestial would such torrents pour 

That naught could stand before the sweeping flood ; 

The torturing " cat" stiffened with human blood, 

Flesh-biting thong with clanking, grating chain, 

The fiend-invented screw, whose hellish pain 

Would cause the stoutest, firmest heart to quail, 

The seller's " pen " the loathsome, dreaded jail, 

Alike would mingle in one ruined mass, 

And from the sight of man forever pass ! 

This may not be ; and here such wrongs are done 

Beneath the glaring light of noonday sun, 

Where modern chivalry is boldly claimed, 

That ancient deeds of tyranny are shamed, 

And from the strife disgusted quick retire, 

Nor to such worse than tyranny aspire ; 

To modern wrongs their ancient doings yield, 

And, fairly Vanquished, quit the shameful field. 

See men, like brutes, here smarting 'neath the whip, 

While yawning owners of their coffee sip, 

And grow indignant as the news they read 

Of Magyar patriots, who by thousands bleed ; 

Exclaim against proud Austria's cruel hate, 

W T hich dooms, unpitying, to such bloody fate 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 73 

Those noble chiefs, because they seek their right 
To Liberty" 'gainst overpowering might. 
What means that sudden flush ? is 't crimson shame, 
Or is it indignation's burning flame, 
Which mantles all his brow and temples o'er 
And bids him angry pace the mati.ed floor ? 
Tis both combined, that Haynau's bloody hand 
Should still more shameful sacrifice demand ; 
'Tis shame, that he to public lash should dare 
A trembling, weak, defenseless woman bare — 
'Tis indignation, that the coward hearts 
Who viewed her, with'ring 'neath the maddening smarts, 
Shrinking beneath the deeper, deadlier wound 
Of violated modesty, around 

Should trembling stand, with nerveless, folded hand, 
Nor dare resistance to the fiend's demand ; 
'Tis this his shame and indignation makes, 
Till trembling servant 'neath his anger quakes 
And fears to cross his often turning path, 
Lest on his head should fall the smothered wrath. 
And now, in fancy, on that distant shore 
He proudly stands, fights Hung'ry's battles o'er, 
Gives Liberty to patriots confined, 
The " woman-whipper," in his Vengeful mind, 
Binds to the stake where late his victim stood, 
And smiles to see the gouts of tyrant blood 
Gather upon the brutal butcher's back ; 
Nor of his fancy-giving blows will slack 
4 



74 . AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

Till, sudden summoned to the world of real, 
He, ling'ring, leaves behind the stake ideal 
To list the summons ; 'tis that human mould, 
His rightful property (by right of gold), 
A slender woman with her infant child 
Stands bound, just captured from the forest wild, 
Where she had fled from man to savage beast ; 
On acorns wild and bitter roots to feast, 
Resting her head by hissing adder's den, 
For, rather than return to haunts of men, 
She'd dare the venomed viper's fatal sting, 
Which, at the worst, but sudden death could bring 
For what was slavery, but a fourfold death ? 
What use to her was life-inspiring breath ? 
'Twas worse than mockery to live and breathe, 
Each day beneath the goading lash to writhe ; 
No hope on earth to which her soul could cling 
While all beyond was dark imagining ; 
What use to gaze upon her infant's face, 
But future years of agony to trace, 
And, in her wild imagination, dream 
Of smothered groan and soul-distracting scream 
From him she cradled on her aching breast 1 
To think the darling child she now caressed, 
Whose little heart, unconscious of her tears, 
Bounded with joy, should feel in coming years 
The heavy weight of mis'ry she had felt ; — 
His back be furrowed with the scar and welt ; 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 75 

That now unconscious spirit, free from care, 

The crushing weight of slavery should bear 

That she had borne, to desperation wrought 

Her mother's heart, till, in the swamp she sought 

For Liberty by man to her denied ! 

Only when trampled does the viper spring, 

But men for very selfishness will sting. 

Oh what a state is this ! when forest wild, 

Whose matted branches through the sun ne'er smiled, 

Where beasts are lurking for expected prey, 

And slimy serpents 'cross the tangled way 

Lay coiled, entwining in disgusting heap — 

Where endless croaking, filthy night-birds keep, 

A paradise to panting souls should seem ! 

Oh ! is there not one struggling, ling'ring beam 

Of Liberty, to pierce this gloomy night ? 

Or must God's image seek in trembling flight 

A refuge in the darkened, loathsome den 

Of hissing reptiles, from the eyes of men 

Who claim him property 1 the only sin 

Of which he's guilty found — his sable skin. . 

Must spirits of the noble, patriotic dead 

View on these plains, where they have fought and bled 

For Liberty, such scenes of tyrant power 1 

Why o'er these hills did clouds of battle lower ? 

Why thundered cannon through each peaceful vale.. 

Causing the cheek of anxious wife to pale ? 

Whv fell the widow'd mother's scalding tear 



76 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

So oft above the reeking, bloody bier 

Of darling son, her only hope and stay, 

Who, when he fell, obscured the brightest ray 

That lingered still to cheer her widowed soul ? — 

Was 't not to 'scape from tyranny's control 

That human blood, like drenching summer rains, 

From patriot hearts watered these flow'ry plains ? 

Was 't not for Liberty ? then why's the cord, 

For one who seeks it now, deemed fit award ? 

Why should that woman cower at the sight 

Of stake and rope, beneath the searching light 

Of Freedom's sun ? why sinks her trembling heart 

At sight of him who patriot Magyar's part 

But now was taking 'gainst the tyrant foe ? 

Why turn those eyes, that speak imploring woe 

Upon the man, whose soul indignant burned, 

Who, in his heart, the " woman-whipper" spurned 

As brutal wretch — whose bloody, tyrant name 

Should ever rest beneath a blot of shame 1 

Is 't for protection that she seeks his eye ? 

We're answered by that low, despairing sigh — 

Protection, such as hungry tigers give, 

Bidding the prey they crouch above, to live, 

Till long continued, never varying sight, 

To keener relish whets the appetite, 

Is the protection that she will receive ; 

For he, the man who distant wrongs can grieve, 

With self-same tongue that cursed the Austrian's name 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 77 

Upon the scroll of just, impartial fame 

His own has placed — with Haynau's to compare — < 

By bidding drivers' ruffian hand to bare 

To savage " cat" her shrinking, trembling form, 

While he, unpityirig, as the life-blood warm 

Trickles adown her fainting, sinking frame, 

Reproaches her without a blush of shame, 

That she to seek for Liberty should dare ; 

Nor listens to her piteous, wailing prayer 

Till she beneath the brutal scourging sinks, 

When he, unburdened of his anger, drinks 

Again his morning draught ; sheds feeling tears 

O'er Ireland's wrongs, while echoes in his ears 

Uncared, unthought of ,e'en, the anguished moan 

Of woman scourged ; such sounds have common grown 

Unto his hardened ear, till it would seem 

That he can only foreign outrage dream ; 

His eyes so oft have viewed such shameful sight, 

That they must needs take higher, wider flight, 

With outraged rights on Europe's distant shore 

To sympathize ; while tyranny his door 

So compasses around, that lowest serf 

Who daily turns the barren, fruitless turf 

In the dominions of the northern Czar, 

Would feel as double weight, as triple bar, 

Depriving him of e'en the shallow hope 

To which, as drowning man grasps friendly rope, 

The lowest feudal serf may ever cling. 



78 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

And what inflicts a deeper, keener sting 

Upon the soul, already crushed with care, 

Than slavery's fearful attribute, despair 1 

Were smiling hope from every bosom hurled, 

How cheerless, comfortless would seem the world ! 

Like hand extended which has naught to clasp, 

The mind its own dark images would grasp 

Then seek in death, o'erpowered by the sight 

Itself had conjured up, oblivion's night. 

But turn from the degrading, hateful sight 

To where one seeks, in cunning, stealthy flight 

Thy northern hills, where he, by chance, has heard 

Is found the meaning of that precious word 

So oft pronounced by master's thoughtless tongue, 

So often by the happy mistress sung 

As glorious boon, entailed by patriot sires, 

As waking in the dullest bosom fires 

Which tyranny to quench has strove in vain ; 

But which has burned, undimmed, upon each plain 

Since haughty Britons strove to crush its germ, 

And found America no stingless worm ! 

He feels a fire is raging in his breast, 

That will not let him in his bondage rest ; 

And hope has whispered, that the rest denied, 

With chains of slav'ry clanking by his side, 

That peace and quiet, for the rankling smart, 

Which, like a worm, is gnawing at his heart, 

The summit of those snow-tipp'd mountains passed 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 79 

And Northern valleys reached, will find at last ; 
His bands he breaks — goes forth in manly might 
To seek for Freedom, which he feels his right ; 
Though tangled bush and tearing thorn would stay 
His course direct, though streams obstruct his way, 
He dashes in, nor fears the rapids strong — 
Not half the terrors to their roar belong 
That dwell in slavery — that crushing word 1 
Its horrors who can tell, or who has heard ? 
They're only found upon the trembling lip 
Of one that's cowered 'neath the biting whip ; 
The aching limbs, the torn and bleeding feet 
With him are naught, for Liberty is sweet, 
And hope is whisp'ring that, beyond those hills, 
His weary limbs may bathe in Freedom's rills. 
But ah ! what cloud obscures the coming day ? 
Why start those drops of fear ? the warning bay 
He hears upon his track, of savage hound, 
And with wild throbbings does his heart rebound ; 
Fear takes possession of the sacred seat 
Which, but a moment since, was hope's retreat ; 
His trembling limbs no more obey his will, 
And dread despair has sent a death-like chill 
Upon his heart, till e'en the stream that flows 
From out its depths, like fast congealing snows 
Winding their sluggish way through mountain rill — 
Each moment threat'ning to their progress still — 
Seems as each labored movement were its last; 



80 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

Till, nerveless, his despairing form is cast 

Helpless, extended on the turfless ground, 

Scarce conscious of the distant, baying hound. 

Is there no hope ? must Freedom's promised streams 

Be only known to him in longing dreams ? 

Are all his patient sufferings to end 

In worse than naught 1 will God no refuge send ? 

E'en death itself to slavery 's preferred ; 

And, as that savage howl is nearer heard, 

A hope is gaining foothold in his breast, 

That in its chill embrace he'll find a rest ; 

For well he knows, as baying echoes ring 

Throughout those wilds, that bloody fangs will bring 

A certain, though a lingering, cruel death. 

But better far to thus resign his breath, 

Better those foaming jaws his flesh should tear, 

Than he be doomed those cursed chains to wear ; 

Better, than feel upon his quiv'ring back 

Again the driver's whip, that hellish rack, 

With all the tortures that each fiendish mind 

Of every age has dreamed, should be combined 

In one vast engine 'gainst his shrinking frame, 

Inflicting cruelties for which a name 

'Twere vain to seek where icy chains a spell 

Have endless thrown, that in the deepest hell 

Imagination vile can conjure up — ■ 

Where vengeful demons on fresh tortures sup — ■ 

Can ne'er be found, if welcome, friendly death 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 81 

With them would come, to still his tortured breath, 
For then his woes and sufferings would end ; 
But years of misery again to spend, 
To one that's felt a spark of Freedom's flame, 
That's whispered only Liberty's blest name, 
Is cruelty distilled ; each shameful lash, 
Howe'er so light, through thinking brain will crash ; 
Each clank of the degrading, slavish chain 
Will pierce such heart with deeper, keener pain 
Than death can bring, though in its fiercest mood. 
But hark ! another sound steals through the wood, 
Mingling its echoes with the bloodhound's bay 
And terrors new now dart across the way 
To start the fugitive from his despair ; 
And look resigned is changed to hopeless stare ; 
With freshened strength he hurries from the place, 
New terrors painted on his startled face. 
From whence proceeds the low, mysterious sound, 
Causing the heart with fear renewed to bound, 
Which calmly beat at thought of bloodhound's fang ; 
Nor which, as near the horrid bayings rang 
Increased, for e'en a moment's space, its speed 1 
The cause must e'en be told though hearts should bleed 
At such a tale, 'twas voice of man he heard — ■ 
And (oh, I shame to speak the bitter word !) 
Where bloodhound's yell had failed to terror wake, 
That voice such horror to his spirit spake 
That he awoke almost as 'twere from death, 
4* 



82 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

To seek anew with panting, labored breath, 

A refuge for the form from human laws 

Which he had, to the reeking, bloody jaws 

Of raving hound yielded as willing prey, 

O'erpowered by weight of wearied, anguish'd clay. 

But fiercer yell proclaims fresh-scented track, 

As up yon tangled hill the vengeful pack, 

With foam-flecked jaws and drooping tongue, appear ; 

While human hunters, close upon the rear, 

With ruffian shouts urge on the lagging way, 

For fresh-turned leaf speaks near approach to prey ; 

And they, already, in their brutal hearts 

Are gloating o'er the hunted wretch's smarts ; 

List'ning, in fancy, to his piteous cry — 

Oh well may'st thou from such vile monsters fly ! 

Nor fear the half from reeking fang of hound 

Of cruelty, that in the breast is found 

Of brother man ! but speed thy wav'ring flight, 

For shouts increasing speak thy form in sight, 

And soon thy short-lived Liberty will end ; 

E'en now I see the robe of slavery blend 

Its pall-black folds with Freedom's lighter dress ! 

Almost it has thee in its curs'd caress ! 

On ! on, nor sink ; through yonder wood a gleam, 

Flashing, appears of swiftly running stream ; 

And that may save thee from the' tyrant's power 

Which would have seemed a curse in former hour; 

The stream that causes thy worn pace to slack, 



AMERICA/ FREEDOM. 83 

May turn both hound and hunter from thy track. 

He gains the bank, he plunges 'neath the wave, 

And while the hunters, disappointed, rave, 

Hid from their sight, he seeks a safe retreat ; 

Securely smiles, as fast retiring feet 

Tell him that doubling trick, on backward trail, 

Has turned pursuers to a distant vale ; 

Then quick emerges from the friendly stream, 

For well he knows not long they'll blindly dream 

That flying fugitive is just before ; 

But, new commencing on the other shore, 

The hound again will scent his wearied path, 

Again the hunter, with increasing wrath, 

Will follow closely on the scented track ; 

E'en now, ascending from the distant pack, 

He hears the bay that wild confusion tells, 

And from his heart the life-blood curdling wells, 

Almost refusing to its task perform ; 

But views ahead, with life his pulses warm, 

For few brief steps and he the height will gain 

Which overlooks bless'd Freedom's promised plain. 

And now he stands upon the topmost peak, 

With thoughts too big for human lips to speak — 

The task were worthy of an angel's tongue ; 

By seraph bands alone should thoughts be sung 

That spring, o'erwhelming, from the thankful soul 

When first it's freed from slavery's control, 

And feels that Liberty 's no idle dream, 



84 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

Its brightning ray no false, delusive beam 
Of Fancy's own creating, but a light 
That evermore increases, till the night 
Of slavery and oppression flees away, 
Yielding its place to purer, brighter day. 
What though the baying hound is close behind ? 
His heart is lighter, now that Freedom's wind 
With kindly murmurings sweeps across his brow ; 
His limbs have lost the heaviness but now, 
Like rabid beast pursued, they seemed to wear ; 
Hope sits enthroned where late was but despair, 
And, with fresh speed, he leaves his foes behind, 
Upon the trails which now, too late, they find ; 
Nor wavers till he gains the distant vale, 
Till he, to man, has told his piteous tale ; 
Then sinks, exhausted by each bleeding wound, 
And wakes to find himself securely bound — 
Shut out, by prison walls, from heaven's light ; 
And why? because he dared assert his right 
To Freedom bravely, 'gainst the cursed wrong 
Which falsely says that man does not belong 
Unto himself, but can for glitt'ring gold, , 
Like burdened beast, by brother man be sold. 
But stood he not on Freedom's promised land, 
Which, gained, gives Liberty to shackled hand ? 
Did he not reach the promised, hoped-for soil, 
That takes oppressive chain from foot of toil ? 
Did not his sleeping with his waking dreams, 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 85 

Teach him the center of those scattered beams 

That sometimes glanced across his dreary way — 

Giving the promise of a brighter day — 

To seek where those proud cliffs their shadows cast, 

As if in haste to meet the chilling blast, 

That sweeps with icy breath from northern pole ? 

Did they not whisper to his famished soul 

That Liberty, the food for which it pined, 

Those valleys gained, unstinted, it would find ? 

Such hope they gave — but then they were but dreams, 

And, like the ripple of thy limpid streams, 

Which startle with their mirrored suns the eye, 

Passing the cloud almost unnoticed by, 

They caught the rays from many noble hearts, 

And sought with them to ease the captive's smarts ; 

But did not tell that man, for worldly fame, 

Had helped perpetuate the blighting shame, 

Which makes the stripes that grace your banners proud 

The jest and by-word of the mocking crowd, 

By placing on thy statute books a law, 

Yielding the flying victim to the maw 

Of greedy tyranny — the deed of shame 

Striving to shield beneath the holy name 

Of justice ! — word so long, so much abused, 

So oft by fools and knaves designing used 

To cover deeds of selfishness and crime. 

What right has he, of North or Southern clime, 

To claim as his the free, immortal mind 



86 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

Of brother man ? does justice help to bind 

The clanking chain upon the manly wrist 

Of one that dares be free ? does it assist 

The brutal driver, with blood-stiffened lash 

The shrinking back of trembling slave to gash ? 

Does it, regardless of the truth declared 

By early patriots, who fearless bared 

To British steel each noble breast, to prove 

That all were equal born and free to move 

On equal plane, yield rightful servant one, 

Because his skin is tinged by torrid sun, 

To him that has perchance a fairer skin 1 

No, never ! justice such a damning sin 

Would ne'er indorse ; her even-balanced scales, 

Held by the steady hand that never fails, 

Not long would waver, but with anxious speed 

Would kick the beam 'gainst the unrighteous deed ; 

Though all the land that's worked by slavish toil, 

Heaped with its many years of robber spoil, 

Its houses, " pens," its fetters, chains, and stakes, 

Its cattle — brute and human — all that makes 

A Southern home, with owners' selves combined 

In one vast weight, itself would wanting find, 

When, in the other scale, the tears and groans, 

The piteous screams, the heart-despairing moans 

Of those were placed, whose never-ceasing sweat 

Of agony and grief, that soil has wet. 

Speak not of justice when you strive to bind, 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 87 

By law permitted, the immortal mind ! 

In silence, rather, wield the lawful sledge, 

Muffle the blow that drives the ready wedge 

Which holds, securely holds, each cursed link 

Of slavery's chain ; but did'st thou ever think 

That when the wedge which binds secure is driven, 

Its way it finds, though by the shock is riven 

The tough'ned fibers of the mighty oak — 

With arm contracted for another stroke, 

Smiling, self-satisfied, as tighter grow 

The grating chains beneath each damning blow — 

Dost ever think this blow may break the bands 

It strives to wedge — free countless captives' hands 

From fetters which they've vainly strove to break ? 

Of this thou'st never dreamed ; but fires will wake, ' 

By desperation fanned, howe'er so low 

They now may burn ; each cruel, taunting blow, 

Though laid upon the least, hastens the day 

When slavery's curse, forever swept away 

By fires now fresh'ning, shall no more be known ; 

Its name be found in history alone. 

But, till that time, we'll leave the fruitless search — ■ 

For home of Liberty, where Christian church 

With the peculiar institution blends, 

'Tis vain to seek — when priest-appointed bends 

From his high place to pamper to such wrong ; 

When holy word, alike with holy song, 

Are brought to prove it God's appointed way 



88 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 

That some were born in slavish bonds to stay ; 
We feel that Freedom ne'er can find a rest 
Till of this ally slavery's dispossessed ; 
Till sacred desks no more shall be profaned 
By hireling priests ; till truths no longer stairied 
By them to suit the list'ning master's ear, 
Are boldly taught by those who will not fear 
To speak like men, the free impressions given 
By angel teachers ! — wrong and outrage driven 
By reason's lash, the smiling face of earth 
Will then forsake, and noble, manly worth, 
Whate'er its color, its reward will claim, 
Nor find in Afric's skin the cause for shame 
Which now it finds throughout this smiling land. 
And now, farewell, America! — each sand 
Of countless millions that compose thy shore, 
Has value far above the glitt'ring ore 
Which lies imbedded in thy mountains wild ; 
Aye, though with it the boasted wealth was piled 
Of Afric's sparkling gems — for here we find, 
Speaking the presence of undaunted mind, 
The prints of many free, advancing feet, 
And know oppressive slavery here will mee 
Its final check, though now from shore to shore 
It ranges unmolested; evermore 
Must it advance with fast decreasing stride, 
For, moving softly by its hateful side, 
We hear the rustle of the blessed folds 



AMERICAN FREEDOM. 89 

Whose drapery the form of Freedom holds. 
And here we leave the theme, hoping for change 
E'er we again thy fields unbounded range, 
For deeds now done where thy free mountains cast 
Their noble shades, would shame the heathen past, 
Would put the Russian tyrant to the blush ; 
Then rise, ye noble minds ! the monster crush ! 
With one unite*d effort break the chain — 
Throughout this fruitful land leave not a stain 
To tell that slavery hath ever dwelt 
Secure upon its shores. Ye who have felt 
Its biting chain rust deep into your hearts, 
Shake off your lethargy ! take Freedom's part, 
And boldly strike against the tyrant might 
Which would deprive you of your manly right. 
Leave not one hateful, damning link to bind 
The Body, or its rightful monarch, Mind ! 



%\t ©tttmi. 

Awake, my Spirit-harp ! awake, and swell 

Thy notes, responsive to the thoughts inspired 
By angel minds ; of heavenly bliss they tell, 

Till my roused soul with love and joy is fired 
And will not silent keep ; but joins the song 

Of seraph love, and sweeps thy slumbering strings, 
The joyful, happy strains to help prolong, 

Till heaven's arch with thy glad music rings. 

No longer sound as in thy earthly da)'-, 

When with rude hands I swept thy jarring strings ; 
No longer be the burden of thy lay 

The griefs, the tears that earthly pleasure brings ; 
Nor tell of wars where brothers brothers meet, 

And cross paternal hands in deadly strife ; 
Of sons that the long-absent parents greet, 

With secret longings for those parents' life. 

Of these no longer sing ; but tell of one, 

Who wandered friendless on the smiling earth ; 

Who, 'mid the thronging crowds, was still alone, 
Whom shame had followed even from her birth ; 



THEOUTCAST. 91 

And while ye speak of her sad, early doom, 

And how unwept, unmourned, away she passed, 

Leave her not there ; but glance beyond the tomb, 
And tell us where her future lot was cast. 

Tell us, if, in the silent spirit-land, 

That stricken spirit found a place of rest ; 
If there, she was refused the friendly hand, 

Or was she welcome, though a humble guest ? 
Tne v e, was she passed with looks of cruel scorn ? 

Were withering curses heaped upon her head ? 
Or did she joyful hail the spirit-morn, 

By angel hands her earth-scorned spirit led. 

Loud shrieks the gale, the storm is high, 
Dark clouds are whirling through the sky, 
And fiercely drives the blinding sleet 
Through that proud city's silent street. 
Silent, for 'tis a fearful storm, 
And he that bears a human form, 
And dares to wander in that street, 
May find the snow his winding-sheet. 
That piercing gale has put to flight 
The watchful guardians of the night, 
And naught is left to tell of life 
'Mid this wild, elemental strife. 
Naught did I say ? what means yon form 
That's feebly struggling through the storm ? 



92 THE OUTCAST. 

Can it be one of mortal race 

Who dares this fearful gale to face 1 

Or is it but somie restless sprite, 

Condemned to wander through the night, 

And ever, at such fearful time, 

Dread penance do for earthly crime ? 

That is no restless sprite ; for slow 

It struggles through the drifting snow ; 

And were it- spirit of the air 

That mortal form it would not bear. , 

'Tis pausing now beneath yon light : 

Ah! 'tis a sad, a mournful sight ; 

A female form, appearing plain, 

A wretched, guilty child of shame. 

The garb of poverty she wears, 

Her face is furrowed o'er with cares 

Untimely age has bowed her frame, 

On her is set the seal of shame. 

Sheltered a moment from the blast, 

Her wishful eyes around are cast, 

As looking for some friendly light, 

Some shelter through the dreary night. 

A glimm'ring light now greets her eye, 

Where yonder mansion to the sky 

Rears its proud head ; there sure she'll find 

A refuge from the bitter wind ; 

For who, unmindful of her fate, 

On such a night would close his eate 



THE OUTCAST. 93 

Against her form, though bowed with shame, 

Unworthy is of Christian name ; 

For though she years had seen of crime, 

'Twere deeper guilt at such a time 

Against her sin and shame to rail, 

Nor shelter offer from the gale. 

But who is she thus forced to roam 

In this wild storm ! has she no home 1 

That, facing thus the blinding sleet, 

She wanders through the city's street ? 

Brief is the tale that tells her wrong — 

Such tales to every age belong. 

Far from the city's noisy strife 

She, guileless, passed her early life ; 

And though she bore a humble name 

And sorrow knew, was free from shame, 

Or only felt it for the sake 

Of parents whom she strove to wake, 

To rouse from the vile, with'ring spell 

That made their early home a hell. 

And she was scorned, the drunkard's child — 

No friendly word her way beguiled ; 

For those who daily bowed in prayer, 

On her poor soul no time could spare ; 

But with unwearied, tireless hands, 

They work for distant heathen lands. 

They can not leave the Hindoo souls — 

Who wander where the Ganges rolls, 



94 THEOUTCAST. 

And list to supplicating prayers 

From one who Christian garment wears ; 

In charity they passed their time, 

Yet left that suffering soul to crime. 

Within that wretched, squalid form 

There beat a heart as pure, as warm 

As though it dwelt in lordly halls, 

Or e'en within a palace walls ; 

A heart that longed its mate to find, 

That sought communion with its kind— 

No wonder, then, that words of love 

Should potent be her soul to move ; 

Nor, that she felt a trusting hope 

As in her ear those words were spoke, 

For who beneath that smiling face 

The tempter's hellish art could trace ? 

How should she know that words so kind 

Were but to gloss his evil mind, 

Or think that one so gentle, mild, 

Who never spurned the drunkard's child, 

But her with kindly smiles would greet, 

Could ever stoop to base deceit 1 

The plans were laid, the snares were set, 

A wily fowler drew the net ; 

Unwearied at his task he wrought, 

Till the untutored maid was caught ; 

His guilty heart she never knew 

Until the net he closer drew. 



THE OUTCAST. 95 

Then, roused, she struggled 'gainst her fate, 

Alas ! her struggles were too late ; 

His task was o'er, his work was done ; 

With treach'rous words the game was won, 

While he, the guilty monster, fled, 

And left that maiden worse than dead. 

But words are useless, worse than vain, 

And can not tell the guilty shame 

That fell upon the wretched maid, 

When first she felt she was betrayed. 

Though bred in ignorance and vice, — 

She'd guarded well that pearl of price — 

The only pearl that she possessed, 

And deemed it safe within her breast ; 

Unstained through scenes of crime she'd passed 

Only to be betrayed at last ; 

And he, she thought so pure, so kind, 

That loving heart, that noble mind, 

Had robbed her of that gem of worth, 

Had crushed her, helpless, to the earth ! 

But, though she knew in his vile heart 

That love for her ne'er had a part, 

As if her cup of grief to fill, 

She loved the base betrayer still. 

In vain she sought for earthly aid, 

In vain for speedy death she prayed ; 

But earthly aid for her was not, 

And death with prayers can ne'er be bought. 



96 THE OUTCAST. 

From home, with curses, she was turned, 
With words of bitter scorn was spurned 
By those who should have shelter given, 
And pointed her the way to heaven. 
Unwarned, they left her to the wiles, 
The hellish arts, the treacherous smiles 
Of one, whose face his heart belied, 
His deepest guilt his greatest pride ; 
Well knowing that his only aim 
Was but to bring that maid to shame. 
But what's the maid to them, that they 
Should strive to check the tempter's way ? 
From beaten paths they never turned, 
With holy horror quick they spurned 
The thought, and would not let it rest 
One moment in their Christian breast ; 
But left her to her wretched fate, 
Or warning gave when 'twas too late. 
Thus driven from her native vale, 
Unsheltered from the piercing gale, 
With bleeding heart and wearied feet 
She sought the distant city's street ; 
For still within her wandering mind 
Lingers his form — perchance she'll find 
The guilty wretch who caused her grief, 
He'll surely not refuse relief; 
But, though she bears a blasted name, 
Will save her from a deeper shame. 



THEOUTCAST. 97 

She still in vain for shelter seeks ; 
Her feeble form and sunken cheeks, 
Her wishful look, imploring eye 
No pity win from passers by : 
For mournful tales from forms of woe 
Are greeting them where'er they go, 
And squalid forms with sunken cheek, 
Imploring eyes that suffering speak, 
With wrong triumphing over right, 
Have grown familiar to their sight. 
Thus, with her, passed the weary day, 
Till night on her exhausted way 
Its mantle's sable folds had cast, 
And 'round her swept its chilling blast; 
A warning to that soul distressed, 
That she had yet no place to rest. 
From all the heartless, busy throng 
Who passed the city's streets along, 
Except from one, no kindly word . 
That trembling, suffering girl had heard ; 
One only listened to her prayers, 
One only learned her wrongs, her cares, 
And she could little do to aid, 
Or cheer the anguish-stricken maid ; 
For she was one at whom the world 
The lip of scorn had often curled ; 
From sin and shame ne'er tried to save, 
But doomed to an unhonored grave. 



98 THE OUTCAST. 

Though sunk in crime, she's not so low- 
That she can pass such look of woe 
Unnioved ; but gives (though it appears 
But useless gift) a woman's tears ; 
Still, it was all that she possessed, 
And coming from such guilty breast, 
The purest, brightest gem that shines — 
The richest of Golconda's mines — 
In worth with it can ne'er compare ; 
Earth's purest gems not half so rare 
As sympathizing tears, that flow 
From hearts of guilt at scenes of woe. 
shame ! to all the Christian crowd 
Who passed that form with sorrow bowed, 
Nor checked their speed at woman's wail, 
Nor listened to her plaintive tale ; 
Unheeding her imploring face, 
They but increase their hurried pace, 
As though to pity one so vile 
Would their pure hearts with sin defile. 
And can this be a Christian land, 
Where all refuse the helping hand ? 
Repenting now she feels her shame, 
Will no one labor to reclaim 
From worse reproach her blasted name ? 
Shall it be said the Christian's creed 
Learns him to break the bruised reed ? 
Not such a lesson that One gave ; 



THE OUTCAST. 99 

He stooped the vilest wretch to save — 
While they who follow in his path, 
Would leave that sinful soul to wrath. 
Of all the throng that passed her there, 
But one would listen to her prayer ; 
And she a wanderer on the earth, 
An outcast from her place of birth, 
Unworthy deemed in prayer to kneel, 
Alone did pity for her feel 
And with her wept — their mingled tears 
Were treasured in the spirit-spheres. 
That friend has gone, again alone 
She strove to move those hearts of stone ; 
But, as she passed, unpitying eyes, 
Or cruel taunts returned her sighs ; 
All wearied, worn, and desolate, 
She sad bewailed her wretched fate, 
For fast the storm was gathering 'round ; 
The whirling snow now hid the ground ; 
The shades of night began to fall, 
To shroud the earth as with a pall, 
And soon throughout that noisy street 
Was hushed the tramp of hurried feet ; 
Silence was settling fast around, 
Or broken only by the sound 
Of winds, that fall upon the ear 
In wild and gloomy notes of fear ; 
Now whirling 'round some ruin gray, 



100 THE OUTCAST. 

Now darting 'cross her toilsome way ; 
Anon, with fearful, moaning sound, 
Driving the drifted snow around 
Till all the demons of the air, 
It seemed, were holding revel there. 
She feels her strength is failing fast, 
Her limbs are stiff'ning with the blast ; 
Soon she must yield her to the storm, 
Death soon will claim that stricken form 
Unless she gains a place of rest ; 
And hope almost forsakes her breast, 
For none to hear her story wait, 
But quick against her close the gate ; 
She lingers, wavers, all is lost ! 
The chilling winds, the biting frost, 
With her their work have almost done ; 
Death has its victim nearly won. 
But while she sinks, a light appears, 
And hope restored dispels her fears ; 
One effort more, and should they cast 
Her from that door, 'twill be the last ; 
One effort more, that anguished breast 
Beneath yon roof will find a rest, 
Or yield its agonizing breath 
On yon chill drift — her bed of death ! 
She still to hope despairing clings ; 
With sinking, trembling heart she rings 
And longs, yet dreads the answering voice 



THE OUTCAST. 101 

That bids her fainting heart rejoice, 
Or dooms it to that spotless bed — 
No shelter for her dying head. 
They ope the door, and on her sight 
Bursts forth a dazzling flood of light; 
Within, a pampered menial stands, 
To him she lifts her feeble hands, 
" Oh ! pity, for a wretched maid," 
With trembling, hopeless voice she prayed ; 
" Oh ! save me from the bitter storm ! 
Doom not to death this guilty form ! 
Though faint and worn, I ask not bread, 
But shelter for this weary head ; 
1 dare not, can not, will not die!" 
With heart of stone and scornful eye 
He listens to her wailing prayers, 
Then at her tattered garment stares ; 
Fast bars the door against her form, 
Unsheltered leaves her to the storm ! 
While with a hard, unfeeling heart 
That servant plays his ordered part, 
We'll leave awhile this scene of gloom 
And turn our eyes within that room, 
Where gems of art from every land 
Are lavished with unsparing hand ; 
Soon from the mirrored, pictured walls 
The o'ertasked eye exhausted falls, 
Yet falls in vain, and only meets 



102 THE OUTCAST. 

With carpets rich and 'broidered seats ; 
Or turning from the splendor there, 
It rests on riches still more rare : 
For precious pearl and priceless gem, 
That well would grace a diadem, 
With thousand rays reflect the light 
And turn to day the dreary night ; 
While treasures, all that gold can buy, 
Around in rich profusion lie ; 
What place is better fit to please 
And pamper to luxurious ease 1 
These treasures speak of wealth untold, 
And teach us of the power of gold. 
But from this wealth with wearied sight 
We turn, to where, beneath yon light, 
With silent tongue and listening ear 
A little group are drawing near, 
While from that book the father read 
Of One who, uncomplaining, bled ; 
Of One whose breast with pity burned 
At sight of woe — who never turned 
From lowest wretch who sought his aid ; 
The vilest soul that to him prayed 
Ne'er prayed in vain — unkindly word 
Was never from his bosom heard. 
E'en while the blessed word he reads, 
That wretched maid for shelter pleads ; 
And rising 'bove the moaning air, 



THE OUTCAST. 103 

He hears her last imploring prayer ; 

He hears her trembling, wayworn feet 

Descend to the deserted street, 

Then reads again that holy word, 

As though her prayer he ne'er had heard. 

Oh ! 'tis a bitter, burning shame, 

That title to a Christian name 

Such heartless, soulless man can claim. 

What right has he that name to use, 

Who food and shelter would refuse 

To guiltiest wretch that e'er saw light, 

And turn him forth such dismal night 

To sink and perish by the way 1 

Methinks, that when he bows to pray, 

Such thoughts within his guilty breast 

A firm, unyielding weight should rest, 

And drive him from the mocking task — 

For, sure, 'tis mockery to ask 

Relief from him who saw that deed. 

He, in that maiden's sorest need, 

Unmoved had heard her vainly plead 

For refuge from the driving snow, 

Nor softened at her tale of woe, 

But heard her from his mansion driven ; 

Then how could he in prayer to Heaven 

For blessings on his efforts ask ? 

It must indeed be hopeless task. 

If shame could find the smallest part 



104 THEOUTCAST. 

Within that worse than heathen heart, 
The bended knee and voice of prayer 
Would be forever banished there ; 
Or his unfeeling soul would learn 
Imploring grief to never spurn. 

But why, my Spirit-harp, dost here delay ? 

Why longer ponder on such mournful theme 1 
Why lingering dwell on weak and sinful clay ? 

Quick, quick transport us where the joyous stream 
Of love, eternal love, forever flows ; 

And as we on its sparkling waters gaze, 
Forgetting all of earthly grief and woes, 

We'll tune our gladsome notes to words of praise. 

Leave, leave the sick'ning, soul-debasing sight 

Of minds — immortal minds — enslaved by gold ; 
Away from these sad scenes ; speed, speed thy flight, 

And ne'er again thy soaring pinions fold, 
Until lost, vanished, swallowed up in space, 

The groveling, selfish world shall disappear, 
And only in our memory hold its place, 

As object meet for sympathizing tear. 

But ere ye leave these scenes of shame and woe, 
Turn, for one moment, where yon hapless girl 

Gasps her last breath, while chilling night-winds blow, 
And eddying, snow-flakes wildly 'round her whirl ; 



THE OUTCAST. 105 

An outcast from her home — no weeping ffiend 
To wipe the chilling death-damps from her brow : 

Must her poor houseless life thus wretched end ? 
Sure if she ever needed friends, 'tis now. 

Why did I think no loving friends were near 

To watch with anxious heart her passing breath — 
To calm her mind, and soothe each growing fear, 

And guard her safely through the shades of death ? 
Though 'tis not clearly seen to her vailed eyes, 

Hovering appears a bright, angelic form 
Above her head, and now, methinks, arise 

Sweet notes of joy 'mid pauses of the storm. 

Delay thy upward flight, till thou canst tell 

If yon bright form that seems to hover near, 
Is but imagination's airy spell, 

Or guardian angel from the spirit-sphere 
That, hovering, waits her weary soul to greet 

And welcome give to that immortal shore ; 
Through wisdom's paths to guide her wayward feet, 

From sin and sorrow freed forevermore. 

With that exhausted, struggling spirit stay 
'Till helpless, lifeless, stiffening in the cold, 

Its worthless, soul- forsaken form shall lay, 
Then quick thy ready pinions wide unfold ; 
5* 



106 THE OUTCAST. 

And in its upward, angel-guided track, 
Direct thy course the shining way along ; 

Let nothing intervene thy speed to slack 

Till bursts upon our ears the rapturous song. 

Till soul-exalting strain the seraph sings, 

When into spirit-life a soul has passed, 
My ear retains, and on thy willing strings 

Swells forth the notes above the wailing blast, 
That ever upward from the earth ascend 

To tell of weary, suffering souls oppressed ; 
Till with those notes of woe the strain shall blend, 

And then, thy duty ended, sink to rest. 

On these proud steps the maiden stands 

And hopeless wrings her ice-cold hands, 

Then wildly tears her flowing hair, 

And yields her soul to dark despair ; 

For fierce the night-winds 'round her blow 

And fiercer drives the drifting snow. 

Oh ! it is hard for her to die, 

No friend to close her glazing eye — 

Her bed of death the cold, cold street, 

The spotless snow her winding-sheet. 

'Tis hard to die with help so near : 

If she was in some desert drear, 

Far, far from any human form, 

Without a struggle, to the 'storm 



THE OUTCAST. 107 

She'd yield her unresisting breath, 

And calmly smile at coming death ; 

For then she'd know that death was sure, 

And better could the thought endure 

To die within that desert wild, * 

Than where uncounted wealth was piled ; 

Where food to strengthen, fire to warm, 

And shelter from the ruthless storm 

Were ready to her eager hand — 

Or would be but for stern command 

Of one who Christian birthright claimed, 

Nor of such heartless order shamed. 

She gains the street, benumbed with cold, 

'Round her chilled limbs she strives to fold 

The remnants of that garment old ; 

But winds that 'round their victim play, 

Quick tear the sheltering folds away — 

As fearful that her drooping form 

These fluttering rags to life would warm. 

In this the cold, unpitying winds, 

But pattern takes from Christian minds ; 

The Christian soul refuses fire 

To her chilled frame ; the winds aspire 

In holy deeds with him to vie ! 

And lest the garments worn, that lie 

In tattered folds across her breast, 

Should give her heart one moment's rest, 

The wretched fragments quick they tear — 



108 THE OUTCAST. 

Expose her to the biting air, 

Rejoicing as they onward speed, 

That they have done a Christian deed. 

Thus was she scorned ! the very snow 

Across her paths in drifts would blow, 

As if in eager haste to throw 

It's mite to fill her cup with woe, 

Until to her weak, wandering mind,' 

It seemed that earth and heaven combined 

Against her soul ; the driving sleet, 

The wailing winds that whirling meet, 

And shriek like demons in her ear 

Their wild, unearthly notes of fear. 

The drooping clouds above her head, 

As wide their pall-like folds they spread, 

To that poor guilty, dying maid. 

In fierce, opposing ranks arrayed, 

Seem as if, barring farther way, 

To bid her there unsheltered stay. 

What use for her to further try 

For aid, when 'gainst her earth and sky 

Their might opposing, bring to bear ? 

While forms with souls strive hard to share 

With them the glory of the deed, 

And in her hour of mortal need, 

To show their horror deep of sin, 

Refuse to take the wanderer in. 

Why longer urge the wearied pace 



THE OUTCAST. 109 

When all against her turn the face — 
Who, who will listen to her cry, 
When Christians turn her forth to die ? 
If those who pray, heed not her prayers, 
Where shall she tell her griefs and cares ? 
Useless the thought, with want and cold 
The maid must die — her garments' fold 
Her shivering frame she draws around, 
And sinks exhausted to the ground. 
Then, as her dying form it passed, 
Shrieked with delight the moaning blast ; 
While cold, bleak walls that rose around, 
Quick caught the fearful, wailing sound, 
And to her trembling, startled ear 
Returned the dismal notes of fear ; 
Till swiftly whirling through the street, 
That shriek, the mocking winds repeat ; 
Then with unpitying, savage whirl, 
Linger a moment by the girl, 
As if to gloat upon the sight, 
Then onward speeds its maddened flight ; 
Tells forth the tale with wild delight 
Upon the listening ear of night, 
Until a vague, a nameless dread — 
Such as, when gazing on the dead, 
We've often felt — cold, chilling creeps 
Over the soul, who, while he sleeps, 
For wealth is toiling evermore, 



110 THE OUTCAST. 

And dreams but of the yellow ore, 

Until with sudden, fearful start, 

With trembling limbs and beating heart, 

He wakes, and -hears with blanched cheek 

The winds repeat that mournful shriek ; 

Then tossing through the dreary night, 

Impatient prays for morning light. 

The watcher by the dying bed 

Hears that wild shriek, with fear and dread, 

Then listens to the gasping breath, 

Watches the slow approach of death, 

And prays that, when he leaves the form, 

It may not be in such a storm. 

On sped the wind, and shrieked the tale 

Till it re-echoed through the vale 

Where once she dwelt ; then circling back, 

Again it swept the city's track ; 

Again, like beast of prey, it played 

With joy around the victim maid, 

Until new strains of woe it caught, 

Then with exulting clamor sought 

Once more the miser's couch of sleep ; 

And where loved friends their vigils keep 

Around the bed of death, that wail 

Was heard again, and hill and dale 

Sent moaning back the dreary sound 

On its unceasing, changeless round. 

" And must I perish in this storm 1 



THE OUTCAST. Ill 

Oh, God ! must this grief-stricken form 

In such wild tempest breathe its last ? 

Here, where these frost-chilled limbs are cast, 

Must I resign my anguished breath — 

Yield to the cold embrace of death 1 

It must be so ! e'en now I feel 

The blood through its cold channels steal 

With sluggish step, then back retreat 

To where the heart, with wavering beat, 

Seems as if fearing to repeat 

The weary task, yet struggles still 

The cold, unfriendly veins to fill ; 

But each faint beat is growing less, 

And adds but to my deep distress ; 

Each quivering pulse, each labored breath, 

Speaks dread approach of greedy death ; 

Of death 1 oh, no ! I can not die ! 

But give me strength, oh, God ! to try 

Once more for aid ; one feeble cry ; 

Some pity sure must lingering dwell 

In human breasts ! — that cry will tell 

Of anguish, grief, and suffering, more 

Than words can speak ; some friendly door 

Will surely ope — they will not turn ; 

A dying wretch they can not spurn !" 

With one wild throb that quivering heart 

Drives the chilled blood to every part 

Of that exhausted frame ; revived, 



112 THE OUTCAST. 

She thinks that succor has arrived, 
Then with one fierce, convulsive bound 
She gains her feet and gazes round ; 
'Tis all in vain ! her hope-cheered eye 
But cold, gray walls and gloomy sky 
Despairing sees, with, rising high, 
Snow drifting 'round ; 'twere vain to try, 
And would require unearthly feat 
Of strength, to walk that snow-piled street ; 
And should she raise her feeble voice 
The winds, that at her woes rejoice, 
Would louder laugh and shriek around — 
With their loud yells her voice be drowned ; 
But the warm blood is driving back, 
The throbbing pulse begins to slack, 
She knows that she is sinking fast ; 
That soon will every hope be past ; 
Retains the breath that's gasping slow, 
Waits till the winds are sobbing low, 
With one last effort shrieks her woe, 
And, breathless, sinks upon the snow ! 
That shriek the heartless Christian hears ; 
It breaks upon his startled ears, 
And to his coward soul appears — 
Curdling his blood with guilty fears — 
As though the master fiend of hell 
Had conjured, by some fearful spell, 
Up from its gloomy depths the yell. 



THE OUTCAST. 113 

Trembling he stands, and ghastly pale 
Lists to the fast-increasing gale, 
And dreads lest he again should hear 
That shriek of more than mortal fear. 
Again he reads the precious word, 
But in his ear a voice is heard — 
" Ye took her not, a stranger, in ; 
Drove from your door a child of sin, 
Hungry and wayworn, at your feet 
She prayed for help ; ye gave no meat 
Nor clothing to that form of woe, 
Nor aught to guard her from the snow ; 
Naked and hungry from your gate 
Ye cast her forth to fearful fate." 
He closed the book, a flush of shame 
Mantled his brow like scorching flame ; 
The words that sounded in his ear, 
It seemed to him that all might hear ; 
But happy,- smiling faces 'round, 
Tell him that none have heard the sound, 
For when he ope'd the holy book 
They did not mark his startled look ; 
They'd never learned 'twas wrong to spurn 
And from the door a stranger turn ; 
They knew not that the sudden rush 
That tinged his cheek with crimson blush, 
Was momentary rule of shame — 
Which oft its heritage will claim. 



114 THE OUTCAST. 

But while the follower profess'd 

Of the meek, gentle, God-like breast, 

(That ever sighed at sight of grief, 

Whose every thought was of relief 

For man o'erburdened and distressed), 

With guilty heart retires to rest, 

We'll turn again from riches rare 

To where the cold, death-chilling air, 

With the slow beating heart has strife 

Against, and for, that wretched life. 

Oh ! when that last wild shriek she gave, 

'T would better been if death's cold wave 

The last faint spark of life had chilled — 

The fluttering pulse forever stilled ; 

But still she lingers on ; the heart 

Urges at each convulsive start 

The thickening blood, till the chill frost 

It meets, and then, its impulse lost, 

It turns, as if reluctant, back, 

Yet leaves upon its sluggish track 

A part congealed in every vein, 

A freshened sting, a deeper pain. 

Not like consumption's flattering dart, 

That pierces the scarce conscious heart, 

Its victim clothes with health's gay bloom, 

E'en while it drags him to the tomb — 

Until 'tis difficult to tell 

The moment when he bids farewell 



THE OUTCAST. 115 

To earthly scenes. Oh ! death like this, 
To her poor soul indeed were bliss ; 
But houseless, friendless, and alone, 
Each gurgling gasp, each dying groan, 
'Tis agony to hear ; and tell 
Me, can there be a deeper hell 
Than dwells within that Christian form, 
Who turned her, dying, to the storm ? 
But sure kind friends are near her now, 
Or that wan cheek and pallid brow 
Would not have changed their look of gloom 
For smiles, as bright as when health's bloom 
Mantled her cheek with crimson glow, 
Then left it pure as spotless snow ; 
Or as, when her own mountain air 
Kissed her soft cheek with tender care, 
And checked, whene'er it crossed her path, 
Each roughened note, each wail of wrath 
Sunk to the gentle, murmuring breeze, 
And softly to the waving trees 
Whispered her praise, then onward sped, 
Mourning her absence while it fled, 
Rebellious that it could not stay, 
And with her flowing ringlets play. 
Her face, as then, is wreathed in smiles ; 
What glorious sight the way beguiles 
And cheers her through each gasping breath, 
Lights up the gloomy vale of death ? 



116 THE OUTCAST. 

Sees that departing, weary soul — 
Through threatening clouds that 'round her roll- 
Faint glimpses of the angel band ; 
The cheering smile, extended hand 
Of cherub and of seraph bright, 
Who wait on yon vast plain of light, 
To welcome her from dreary night ? 
Sure such glad vision greets her sight ; 
For what could ease her dying throes, 
Make her forget all earthly woes, 
But glimpse of that immortal shore 
Where she could wander evermore ? 
No taunts to greet her shrinking ear : 
No danger, want, and death to fear ; 
Where words of love instead of scorn 
Would welcome her, the spirit-born. 
Yes, she was happy, and the gale 
Might louder shriek and wilder wail ; 
Its dirge-like tones she minded not, 
Her dying pains were all forgot 
In gazing on that heavenly scene ; 
And were that snow a mossy green, 
That winter night a summer day, 
And she a thoughtless child at play, 
She would not feel more free from care, 
A calmer smile she could not wear. 
For she — the guilty and disgraced, 
Her name from virtue's page erased, 



THE OUTCAST. 117 

No shelter from the stinging cold, 
With scarce a rag to round her fold — 
Is happier far than he, who sold 
His right to Christian name for gold. 
For though reclining in a room 
Whose tints would vie with roses' bloom, 
Where soothing fragrance filled the air, 
And all seems formed to banish care, 
There is within his guilty breast 
A worm that will not let him rest ! 
E'en while the spirit that he spurned, 
And helpless from his. mansion turned, 
Gazes with rapture on the sight 
Of countless hosts of spirits bright, 
Who throng around to comfort, cheer, 
And guide her to their own glad sphere, 
He writhes beneath the venomed stings 
A guilty conscience ever brings. 
The dreary walls, the driving snow, 
The angry winds that wrathful blow 
And rave, because they can not hear 
Again from her that shriek of fear, 
Nor see, nor hear the dying girl — 
Far, far above the tempest's whirl, 
Her thoughts are mingling with the throng 
Who sing for her the welcome song 
That ever greets the fainting soul, 
While death's dark billows round it roll ; 



118 THE OUTCAST. 

Commences ere it leaves the clay, 

Nor ending, till in glorious day 

It wakes, and joins the heavenly strain 

Which mortal tongues would try in vain. 

She glances o'er the gloomy wave, 

Nor heeds between the cold, damp grave, 

Which, yawning, waits till hungry death — 

Its friend and brother — stills her breath ; 

Plays its dread part in nature's laws, 

And yields her to its greedy jaws. 

Why should she mind that worn-out frame ? 

It ne'er has brought but grief and shame ; 

Then let it moulder in decay, 

To crawling death-worms fall a prey, 

While her freed spirit soars away 

To bask in beams of endless day. 

But, hark ! new strains of music rise, 

More dazzling beauties greet her eyes, 

She pants, she struggles to embrace 

Those spirit-forms ; each friendly face 

Of that bright band is drawing near, 

Each note of angel-song to hear ; 

Her spirit strove, and in the strife 

She passed through death to endless life ; 

Beneath the snow, a form of woe 
Lies stiffening in the cold ; 

But free from care, a spirit fair 
Does seraph arms unfold. 



THE OUTCAST. 119 

As from a dream she woke, amazed ! 
Around with startled wonder gazed, 
Enraptured at the glorious sight ; 
Then sunk o'erpowered by the light, 
And feared again to raise her head 
Lest she should find the vision fled ; 
Until at once there rose around 
Such a wild burst of heavenly sound 
From angel harps, a moment stilled, 
That her faint heart with rapture filled, 
And whispered her that death was o'er, 
That she had gained the blissful shore. 
Then louder rose the joyful song, 
And heavenly breezes bore along 
The cheering, ever-welcome sound 
To angel ears, " The lost is found ;" 
Till distant harps caught up the strain, 
And o'er the vast, ethereal plain 
Was heard the sweet, harmonious notes, 
Sounding from countless seraph throats. 
Oh ! what a change to that poor heart 
Was brought by death's long dreaded dart. 
A moment since, her mournful wail 
Was mingling with the howling gale ; 
And now she's joining the glad songs 
Sung by the happy seraph throngs ; 
Treated a moment since with scorn, 
Now angel-hailed as spirit-born ; 



120 THE OUTCAST. 

Chilled by the sleet and driving snow, 

Now fanned by gentle winds, that blow 

With murmuring sound from heavenly bowers, 

Laden with sweet perfume of flowers 

(Flowers ne'er watered by earth's tears) 

That only bloom in spirit spheres. 

" Oh ! joy !" she cried ; " it is no dream ; 

I've gained the rest, I've crossed the stream, 

And left behind my grief and shame 

With that decaying, worthless frame. 

On earth (or rest I vainly tried ; 

Each prayer for help was there denied ; 

Each bitter tear, each feeble cry, 

Imploring look and heartfelt sigh, 

But gained for me a harsh reply, 

And scornful look from every eye ; 

But kindly words now greet my ear, 

No longer falls the scalding tear, 

Unless for very joy it Hows 

While musing on my banished woes. 

Here, my glad soul no more oppressed — 

No more by earthly want distressed, 

Shall ever mingle with the blest, 

And share with them the glorious rest — 

The rest that mortals seek in vain, 

And struggle for through years of pain," 

Reluctant, for a moment's space 

We turn from that bright, beaming face, 



THE OUTCAST. 121 

To where is left the mouldering shell 
That, to the gaping crowd, will tell 
By morning light of fearful death, 
Of limbs convulsed and gasping breath ; 
And some, perchance, will cry, " Oh, shame !" 
Nor take unto their hearts the blame ; 
Although they passed the wanderer by, 
And left her, shelterless, to die. 
And some will pity her sad fate — 
Alas ! their pity is too late ; 
But why alas ? if they had turned 
And sheltered her, instead of spurned, 
That bleak, that dreary winter's morn 
Would not have found her spirit-born ; 
Companion of bright seraph bands, 
Guarded and soothed by angel hands ; 
But turned again upon the street, 
Her piteous' story to repeat. 
Again to meet insulting sneers, 
The cruel taunts, the heartless jeers 
Of men, who souls immortal claim, 
Yet act like fiends in human frame ; 
For had a transient pity burned 
Within their hearts for her, the spurned 
Of all (and something in their breast, 
Had bid them not refuse her rest 
And shelter through the stormy night), 
At the first dawn of morning light 
6 



122 THE OUTCAST. 

They would have deemed their duty done, ' 

And ere the warm, reviving sun 

Through scattered clouds had beamed again 

Over the snow-clad hill and plain, 

They would have turned her forth to roam 

Again, without a friend or home. 

But 'tis not her we pity now- — 

Her weary heart and throbbing brow 

Have found a rest from toil and shame, 

Nor longer aid and pity claim 

From human hearts ; but woe betide 

The souls who spurned her in their pride ; 

They have a murderer's title gained ; 

Their guilty hearts with blood are stained, 

As deep as though a crimson tide 

Was flowing from her wounded side, 

And their own hands the bloody knife 

Guided, that robbed her of her life. 

But all is o'er ; no friendly tear 

Was shed upon the pauper's bier ; 

No prayer above her corpse was said ; 

No word from Holy Writ was read, 

But hirelings, with a careless tread, 

Conveyed her to that narrow bed, 

And brutal laugh and jest went round 

With those who placed her 'neath the ground, 

Till e'en the cold, unfeeling earth 

Seemed angry at their ill-timed mirth, 



THE OUTCAST. 123 

And with a sound so dismal, fell 

Above her head, that fear's dark spell 

Through their seared hearts sucn horror thrilled, 

That quick the dreary grave they filled, 

And hurried from the gloomy place, 

With silent tongue and trembling pace ; 

Nor dared again to glance around, 

For in their ears that fearful sound 

Was ringing still — the guilty heart, 

Thus ever plays a coward's part. 

There she was left, the only trace 

That told to mortal eyes the place, 

Was earth disturbed, and sullied snow, 

Which the fierce winds, with envious blow — 

As if to hide it from the sight — 

Quick covered with a robe of white. 

Her grave 'neath that pure robe was lost, 

Nor found again till winter's frost 

And chilling snow had left the ground, 

When with sweet flowers blooming round, 

A blasted, dreary spot was seen, 

Like island 'mid the ocean green ; 

A sunken place across the way, 

That only told of dread decay : 

No monument above her head, 

To tell the virtues of the dead ; 

But all who pass her story read 

In the dark #rass and noxious weed, 



124 THE OUTCAST. 

That ever, with a flowing wave 
Are sighing o'er that sunken grave. 
And what, than this, could better tell 
Of one who erst from virtue fell ? 
What could more plainly to us speak 
Of blasted heart, all drear and bleak 
Amid the smiling world around, 
Than straggling weed and barren ground, 
Encircled by a sea of flowers, 
That Spring's warm sun and genial showers 
Had waked to life and fragrant bloom — 
Except upon' the victim's tomb. 
But she's not there — that loathsome frame 
From her no sympathy can claim. 
Reclaims the stalk the mouldering shell 
That lies decaying where it fell, 
A shapeless form beneath the earth ? 
Or springs it up to nobler birth 1 
Until the growing head is seen 
Surrounded by the waving green, 
That screens it from the chilling rain, 
Till all the wide extended plain 
In purest golden tinting glows, 
And to the anxious farmer shows 
His care and trouble well repaid ; 
Thus was it with the outcast maid, — 
She'd left the covering to decay, 
And, in those realms of endless day, 



THE OUTCAST. 125 

Was pressing on new joys to gain ; 

Was ripening like that head of grain. 

What though false bigotry and pride, 

Almost a Christian grave denied 

To that pale, drooping, lifeless head, 

And hurled upon the helpless dead 

Curses so dark, that they would seem 

The offspring of some hideous dream, 

So fiendish, that the words to hear 

Would shock the lowest, vilest ear 1 

What though they doomed her to a hell, 

Whose fearful agony to tell 

The firmest, strongest brain would craze, 

And e'en the fiends they paint, would gaze 

And wonder where the human mind 

Such worse than fiendish thoughts could find? 

Her soaring spirit heeds them not, 

But seeks some quiet, silent grot, 

And muses on the Father's love, 

That bore her hopeless soul above 

The dreary confines of the earth, 

Where sorrow, want, and pain have birth, 

To the freed spirit's joyful home ; 

Where, learning ever, she might roam ; 

On ripening beauties ever gaze, 

And, gazing, find new cause for praise ; 

A vast eternity to spend, 

In works of love that never end. 



126 THE OUTCAST. 

Eternity! oh, what a theme; ♦ 

When dawns the first faint, flickering beam 

Of reason on the human soul, 

It, struggling, fain would grasp the whole ; 

And when, as with an eager flight 

The height is gained, with anxious sight 

It finds that knowledge just begun, 

And up toward the glowing sun 

Of truth, eternal truth, appears 

New fields of wisdom, trembling fears 

Again to soar, and lingers, till" 

Impelled, almost against its will, 

It flies those regions to explore, 

Till it has gained of knowledge more 

Than it had ever looked to find, 

Except in Omnipresent mind. 

But still eternity 's before, 

And that one word alone is more 

Than mind immortal comprehends, 

Though on the thought it ages spends. 

And that eternity she's found ; 

Bright seraphs countless throng around, 

And in their sinless arms embrace 

That soul, from whom the Christian's face 

With horror turned, as if the sight 

His holy heart with sin would blight. 

Though vice and misery hailed her birth, 

And though her few brief years on earth 



THE OUTCAST. 127 

Were filled with agony and shame, 

Her heritage a blasted name — 

Though earth had yielded to her part 

But blighted form and broken heart, 

They'd gathered round her dying form ; 

They'd watched her through the fearful storm ; 

Had cheered her faint, expiring sight 

With glimpses of the glorious light 

That, when her dying pangs were o'er, 

Would greet her on the happy shore. 

And when she left that suffering clay, 

They bore her spirit freed away 

To where earth's wants no more distress, 

Where tyrant minds no more oppress ; 

But where the soaring mind aspires 

To wisdom's fount, and never tires 

Of draughts that, there unceasing spring, 

With love's own gentle murmuring. 

And there we leave this earth-freed mind ; 

With naught the soaring thoughts to bind, 

She'll wander through those blooming bowers 

Surrounded by reviving showers 

Of heavenly wisdom, till the heart, 

Like budding flowers, in every part 

Unfolds and opens to the gaze 

More beauteous truths ; and brighter rays 

Will beam upon her raptured soul, 

While love's glad billows ever roll, 



128 THE OUTCAST. 

And round the joyous maiden play, 

To drive each saddening thought away. 

But while her soul with love o'erflows, 

As up the shining steep she goes, 

The man that turned her from his door 

Still hugs unto his breast the ore 

He's coined from widows', orphans' tears, 

Which, as his dying moment nears, 

He wills to charity ; and fame, 

Upon her temple, finds his name 

Engraved in characters of gold. 

But naught avails the mighty deed 

While hearts oppressed around him bleed : 

The world may almost deify, 

And fools applaud him to the sky, 

But still the low, despairing cry, 

The stifled sob, the feeble sigh, 

Like lead will weigh his troubled soul ; 

And when death's billows darkly roll 

Around, and sweep him from the place, 

Within the boundless realms of space 

He'll wake, to find his spirit weighed 

And wanting found, until, for aid 

He'll gladly ask the soul he spurned, 

And proudly from his mansion turned. 

But now thy task is ended, sink to rest ; 

Repose awhile each quivering, trembling string 



THE OUTCAST. 129 

Until new fire is kindled in my breast, 

And then again each glowing note shall ring 
In harmony with inner thoughts, that spring 

Unbidden from the ever gushing well, 

From which we drink and mount on angel's wing, 

Far, far above what earthly tongue can tell. 

And though, amid the songs of joy that rise 
To mingle with the song of seraph bands, 

Are often heard ascending to the skies 
Sad notes of grief from rudimental lands, 
Thy notes, continued, tell that angel hands 

With chords of love those wailing notes will blend, 
Till songs of praise the spirit freed demands, 

And joins the happy strains that never end. 
6* 



%\t §mi0tt. 



Beneath an oak tree's ancient shade, 
Two guileless children laughing played, 

Shouting in youthful glee ; 
As loud their joyful clamor rose, 
Who grief and mis'ry, want and woes, 

Could in their future see ? 
One was a boy, of noble form, 
Who seemed as master of the storm, 

So young, and yet so bold ; 
And one a girl, so dazzling fair, 
She seemed a nymph of upper air, 
As down her back her golden hair 

In glossy ringlets rolled. 

Long years have past since, filled with glee, 
Those children skipp'd beneath that tree, 

And there again they stand ; 
Not now, as then, with careless smile, 
For one must leave that happy Isle, 
For fame and fortune seek awhile 

In some far distant land. 



THE REUNION. 131 

He strove in vain to calm her fears- 
He would return in two short years, 

And never more would roam ; 
Return with riches, honor, fame, 
Return her waiting hand to claim 

In this his treasured home. 
Truth sits upon his noble brow. 
Then how can she distrust him now 

In this, their parting hour ? 
She does not ! yet the threatening cloud 
That's gathering 'round her, like a cloud, 

Portends a gloomy shower. 

Though young, she yet hath sorrow seen, 
And thus with her it's ever been 

When some deep grief was near ; 
And now her first, her only love, 
Was bound in foreign climes to rove ; 
Dost wonder that she vainly strove 

To check the falling tear ? 
Time flies — he must away — farewell ! 
Like gloomy sound of convent bell, 
Tolling a passing "spirit's knell, 

That parting word appears ! 
And why ? he'll sure return again — • 
Then why that heavy, dreary pain ? 

Why all those boding fears 1 
That gath'ring cloud above her hung 



132 THE REUNION'. 

And would not pass away, 
That dread unto her spirit clung, 
Its sable mantle 'round her flung 

For many a weary day. 

Glad news soon came her mind to free — ■ 
He'd landed safe beyond the sea ; 

Farewell to all her fears — 
Ah, no ! though all seemed clear and bright 
To others, yet to her no light 

Through that dark cloud appears ; 
A letter, and another, came, 
Bringing her news of wealth and fame 

For him on distant shore — 
Still to herself she'd ever say, 
Through sleepless night and weary day, 

" I ne'er shall see him more !" 
His letters breathed but hope and love ; 
He said for her alone he strove, 

Without her all was gloom ; 
Yet ever, as these words she read, 
They seemed as coming from the dead — 

As echoes from the tomb. 

Two years have nearly passed, and now 

He speaks of his return ; 
That sadness still is on her brow, 

And why — she's yet to learn ; 



THE REUNION. 133 

She knows his love for her is pure, 
And will throughout all time endure, 

Then why that failing heart ? 
Now that the wished-for day is near, 
When he'll return her way to cheer, 
Why does that heavy cloud of fear 

Still threaten them to part ? 

But now that youth, so true, so brave, 

Is dashing o'er the sparkling wave ; 

Loaded with honor, wealth, and fame, 

His love for her is still the same 

As when the pale moon heard their vows, 

Beneath that oak's wide-spreading boughs ; 

He's traveled many a land I ween, 

And many a form of beauty seen, 

But none that could with her compare — 

No beauty that was half so rare. 

Now, musing to himself, he'd say, 

While gazing on the sea, 
"Why should that spirit, once so gay, 

So changed, so saddened be ? 
Her letters all are tinged with gloom, 
As if some dark, some dreadful doom, 
Some fearful phantom of the tomb 

Was ever by her side ; 
But soon we'll meet, no more to part, 
Then with that faithful, trusting heart, 



134 THE REUNION. 

Adown life's stream I'll glide." 
Ay ! soon they'll meet to part no more — 
But not on Albion's friendly shore. 

Above the deep, the foaming tides 
Yon gallant ship so nobly rides, 

Oh ! who could danger fear ? 
They've crossed the ocean almost o'er, 
And soon old England's rock-bound shore 

Their anxious sight will cheer ; 
Once more they'll tread familiar lands — 
And now they dream that loving hands 

Are greeting them at last ; 
Alas ! their dreams are all in vain, 
They ne'er will see those friends again 

Till death's dark stream they've passed ! 
All free from care, he's sleeping now ; 
The smile of hope is on his brow ; 
He hears not the low, mournful wail 
Of winds, that speak the rising gale — 
The white-capp'd waves, the lightning's flash, 
The sea-bird's cry, the thunder's crash, 

He does not see nor hear. 
But many in that noble ship 
Are starting up with quiv'ring lip, 

And cheeks all blanched with fear — 
Oh ! 'twas a sad, a mournful sight, 
Through all the dark, the fearful night, 



THE REUNION. 135 

Upon that wave-washed deck ; 
"Who shall describe the dreadful shock, 
As, high upon that hidden rock, 

She drove a helpless wreck ? 
Loud cries for help and woman's wail 
Were heard above the rising gale, 

By those upon the beach ; 
But all in vain the wish to save — 
No boat could live upon the wave, 

That vessel's side to reach. 

These cries for help are growing less, 
But still that signal of distress 

Sounds high above the storm, 
And tells, though breakers 'round them dash, 
That shattered bark delays the crash, 

And hearts with hope beat warm ; 
They hope in vain, for never more 
They'll stand upon old England's shore, 

And wander through each vale ; 
Long, long will loved ones for them mourn, 
And watch in vain for their return — 

Their cheeks with sorrow pale ! 

But, hark ! what means that dreadful shriek 

Which rises 'bove the gale ? 
Could that dread rock, those breakers speak, 

They'd tell a mournful tale — 



136 THE REUNION. 

How with one wild, one sudden dash, 
One parting groan, one fearful crash, 

That stranded ship went down ; 
How words of hope and trusting prayer, 
Mingled with ravings of despair, 
Rose high upon the wailing air, 

Amid the tempest's frown : 
That shriek was heard upon the beach, 

Above the ocean's roar, 
And ghastly forms they could not reach, 

Came dashing on the shore. 

The strength of that fierce gale is past, 
And morning's light is breaking fast 

Upon the foaming wave, 
Beneath which, all the joyful band 
That gazed upon their native land, 

Have found a watery grave ; 
Oh, no ! not all have sunk to rest 
Beneath the billow's foaming crest, 

For one is on the shore ; 
But he is numbered with the dead — 
The light from that dark eye has fled — 

Yes, fled forevermore ! 

Was it for this he left his home, 
Through gloomy, savage wilds to roam 
Far, far from every friend 1 



THE REUNION. 137 

Of all his youthful dreams of fame, 
Of faithful love and honored name, 

Is this to be the end 1 
Is this pale, lifeless, ghastly form, 
The noble man, whose heart beat warm 

At near approach to home ? 

Oh, no ! he's left that useless clay, 
Through glorious worlds of endless day, 

Eternally to roam ; 
They gather 'round him on the sand, 
With sorrowing hearts and friendly hand, 

They close his glazing eye ; 
With mournful steps and words of gloom, 
They bear that stranger to the tomb, 
And wonder why this early doom — 

Why one so young should die ! 
Ah ! could they look beyond this earth, 
And see that glorious angel-birth, 

They would not question why ! 

The storm is raging fierce and loud 

'Round the once happy home, 
Where sits a form in silence bowed, 

Her brow o'ercast with gloom ; 
Fiercely the lightnings 'round her flash, 
And mingling with the tempest's crash, 

Do threatening thunders roll ; 



138 THE REUNION. 

She heeds them not, though pealing loud, 
For now a heavier, darker cloud 

Is resting on her soul ; 
Too well she knows that sorrow's near, 

As darker grows that cloud — 
As deep'ning gloom and hopeless fear, 

Fast on her spirit crowd ; 
For oft before she's felt such gloom, 
As o'er loved friends some dreadful doom 

Was gathering to fall ; 
But ne'er before did cloud so bold 
Twine round her heart in fearful fold, 

So like a gloomy pall. 

The morning sun now shining bright, 
Is bathing in a flood of light 

That quiet, peaceful vale ; 
And but for trees all twisted, torn, 
No trace is left this lovely morn 

Of the fierce evening gale ; 
But for that sad, that weary heart, 
Morn's cheerful light can have no part, 

For all is dark despair ! 
Her last, faint hope forever fled, 
As burst that cloud above her head ; 
Ah ! better far be with the dead 

Than all her grief to bear ! 
She wandered forth, in listless mood, 



THE REUNION. 139 

Beneath the shade of a deep wood ; 
She heeded not that 'cross her path 
Huge limbs were strewn, as if in wrath, 

By the fierce tempest's power ; 
The ruin 'round she minded not, 
Until she came unto the spot, 
Where oft in childhood's hour she'd played — 
That sacred place, the oak-tree's shade, 

Where passed their parting hour ; 
But, ah ! how changed was all — how drear, 
The place so long by her held dear, 

That heard their youthful vows ! 
The winds had spared that noble oak, 
But, shattered by the lightning's stroke, 

Were its wide-spreading boughs. 

Leaning against the blasted oak, 

That stricken form now feebly spoke — 

Her voice with anguish chill ; 
" That threat'ning, gloomy cloud has fled, 
But well I know he's with the dead — 

His noble heart is still ; 
I felt his presence in the storm, 
And, though I could not see his form, 

I knew 'twas by my side : 
'Tis past — and now, like this brave oak, 
My mind is blasted by the stroke, 
My weary, weary heart is broke, 



140 THE REUNION. 

My hopes all scattered wide ; 
This lonely bower, all stripp'd and bare, 
Is a fit type of the despair 

That's settling on my mind ; 
Yon oak is shatter'd by the storm, 
But still it stands, like this frail form, 

Exposed to each chill wind ; 
Though on it falls reviving rain, 
And shines the summer sun, 'tis vain — 

It ne'er again will bloom ; 
But long a useless trunk will stand, 
Like me, a cumberer of the land, 

Fit only for the tomb." 

Thus sadly spake this maiden pale, 
And wandering lonely through the vale, 

She ever for him wept ; 
Friends strove to drive away that gloom ; 
But though she had not heard his doom, 
Full well she knew within the tomb, 

In death's embrace he slept ; 
For often now she felt him near, 

Her weary steps to guide — 
And oft as for him fell the tear, 

He seemed her grief to chide ; 
But still she could not give him up, 
And oft she mourned affliction's cup 

Such brimming draught should bear ; 



THE REUNION. 141 

With mortal eyes she could not see 
The heavenly rest he'd entered, free 

From every earthly care ; 
She could not see the angel-form 
Which sprung to life in that wild storm ; 
She does not see those spirits bright, 
Who gather round him in the light 

Of that celestial day ; 
That welcome song she does not hear, 
Too thrilling sweet for mortal ear ; 
Those heavenly notes, that glorious light 
For earthly eyes is far too bright — 

Too bright for feeble clay ;* 
But could she for one moment see 
His noble form from sorrow free, 

As, roaming through those spheres, 
He turns from viewing beauties rare, 
To guard her steps with tender care, 

She'd banish all her fears. 

Kind friends are gathering round to cheer, 
And, as time flies, they hope to hear 

Some tidings of that crew ; 
She knew their hopes were all in vain — 
That never they would hear again 

Too well the maiden knew ! 
It was a mournful sight to see 
That youthful heart, once light and free, 



142 THE REUNION. 

Fast sink into the grave ; 
Sad 'twas to see each loving heart, 
That in her sorrows shared a part 

So vainly strive to save — 
As day by day her cheek grew pale, 
And that wan form told the dread tale 

That from them she must go, 
They gazed upon her brow with grief, 
And strove, in vain, to find relief 

From the impending woe. 

Often she felt those friends were dear, 

And fain would with them stay ; 
But that loved spirit's ever near 

To beckon her away ; 
He whispers to her weary soul, 
That where those blissful waters roll, 

She'll find eternal rest — 
He bids her look beyond this earth, 
To glorious scenes of spirit-birth, 

Where ever dwell the blest ; 
She knows that he is ever by, 
Though with her feeble, mortal eye, 

She can not see his face ; 
Yet soon she feels that she shall be 
With his blest spirit roaming free, 
Then gazing, as beneath that tree, 

New beauties she will trace. 



THE REUNION. 143 

No wonder, then, devouring death 

For her had lost its sting ; 
That thoughts of her expiring breath, 

Should naught but pleasure bring ; 
Nor that she looked with rapturous joy 

To the bright angel-home, 
Where death could ne'er her hopes destroy- 
Where sorrow ne'er could come ; 
For she had known scarce else but grief, 
And feeling soon she'd find relief — 

From all her sorrows part — 
Revived the hope within her breast, 
Not for a fleeting, earthly rest, 

But with that faithful heart ; 
For earthly rest she knew was vain — 
With every pleasure -mingled pain, 

Its thorny paths she'd tried — ■ 
But with those spirits roaming free, 
She knew earth's sorrows all would flee ; 
How could she else than happy be, 

When by that loved one's side ? 

As faded fast her form away, 
And nearer, nearer drew the day, 

When with his spirit bright 
She'd meet in yon celestial place, 
They gazed upon her lovely face, 
And in those features plainly traced 



144 THE REUNION. 

The spirits' beaming light ; 
Then wonder'd why that settled gloom — 
The fearful impress of the tomb, 

Which stamped her youthful face — 
To those calm smiles, serene and bright, 
Peaceful as autumn's fading light, 

So soon should give its place ! 
She's greatly changed — and yet 'tis not 
That she the lost one has forgot — 

He's ever in her thought ; 
But that with him she soon will be — 
That soon his noble face she'll see 

This happy change has wrought ; 
And should she for one moment feel, 
Death did not o'er her senses steal 

With sure though cautious tread, 
Deep grief would rest on that frail form, 
Again would rage the fearful storm 

'Round her devoted head. 

Her mind is fixed, not on the earth, 
But on those spheres where love has birth ; 
She's through with fleeting, transient toys, 
Fast pressing on to nobler joys — 
Joys to which angel minds aspire — 
Where souls are warmed by wisdom's fire, 
And ever mounting higher, higher, 
By reason's hand are led. 



THE REUNION. 145 

Now autumn winds, with mournful sound 

Are sweeping through the vale, 
And forest leaves are scattered 'round, 

Like chaff before the gale ; 
How sadly changed is Nature's face, 
To those who only there can trace 

The emblems of decay ; 
They see not, in the parent earth, 
Those germs that, patient, wait their birth, 

Till spring's reviving day ; 
But to those minds that farther look, 
That deeper read in Nature's book, 

Those trees so leafless, bare, 
Their garments worn have thrown aside, 
To be replaced by robes of pride, 

Through Nature's kindly care ; 
Thus was it with that lovely form, 

As on her couch she lay ; 
She heeded not the wailing storm — 

Her thoughts were far away ; 
She knows that soon from earth she'll go, 
And leave that feeble form below 

To mingle with the dust ; 
She knows her spirit soon will wear 
A garment free from every care — 

Unwav'ring is her trust ; 
For now her griefs are nearly o'er, 
She's almost reached the blessed shore 
7 



146 THE REUNION. 

Where dwells the loved and lost ; 
Her little bark has faced the gale — ■ 
Soon, soon she'll furl its peaceful sail, 
And wander through that heavenly vale, 

No longer tempest tossed. 

Dear friends are gathering 'round her now ; 
With bleeding heart and saddened brow 

Each takes a long farewell ; 

As the last, parting word they speak, 

"And gaze their last on that wan cheek, 

Their anguish who can tell? 
For she was dear to every heart, 
And now that with her they must part — 

Must yield her to the tomb — 

~They feel that when her voice is stilled 

In death, her place can ne'er be filled, 

No light can cheer the gloom. 

Grim death is stealing o'er her fast, 
But on her brow, until the last 

Is hovering that smile ; 
For loving spirits gather near, 
And while they banish every fear, 

The dreary way beguile ; 
But while they wait, those shining bands, 
Her soul to greet with welcome hands, 

She turns to those that weep, 



THE REUNION. 147 

And bids them cast aside their fears, 
For loved ones from the spirit-spheres 

Their vigils 'round her keep ; 
Then to the form that's bending low 
Above her couch, with looks of woe, 

She whispers, " Mother, dear ! 
My moments now witri you are brief — 
But gaze not thus with looks of grief, 
This weary soul will find relief — 

Then dry those falling tears ; 
Long hast thou seen my inmost heart, 
And known on earth I've had no part — 

That all was one drear waste ; 
Ah ! could you see these spirits near, 
Their welcome songs could you but hear, 
Soon, soon you'd check the gushing tear, 

And bid my spirit haste — 
Haste ! haste my grief-worn, weary soul, 
For thou hast nearly reached the goal — 

No longer here delay ! 
Spread thy glad wings and leave the form, 
And in this dark, this lowering storm, 

My soul no longer stay ! 
Hark ! now I hear glad spirit-songs — 
Ah ! could they but their notes prolong 

To reach thy listening ears — 
Could that sweet music fill this room, 
'T would quick the gath'ring gloom disperse 



148 THE REUNION. 

And wing your thoughts with seraph verse 

To your celestial spheres — 
Where soon, from this frail body free, 
Away from earthly cares I'll flee, 

And find a rest at last ; 
Then grieve no more that I must go 
Where love's eternal waters flow, 
Where love's unfading blossoms grow, 
Where never more can earthly woe 

Its shadows o'er me cast. 
You're slowly fading ffom my sight — 
And now a soft, a heavenly light 

Is stealing through the room ; 
Swallowed, as 'twere, in that bright cloud 
Your forms — but spirits 'round me crowd, 

Though not with looks of gloom ; 
They come, those loved ones mourned as dead, 
They press around my dying bed, 

And wait my parting breath — 
Dark clouds no longer dim my sight, 
And 'round me now beams Heaven's own light ; 

My soul, can this be death ? 
Ah, yes ! I feel I'm almost there ! 
A few brief moments more of care 

And with this earth I've done ! 
One struggle with this useless clay 
And my freed soul will soar away, 

The victory will be won ! 



THE REUNION. 149 

Farewell, dear friends ! farewell to all, 
I must away ! bright spirits call, 

And gladly I obey ; 
Dry, dry those tears — no longer weep, 
For though this spirit now must sleep, 

'Twill wake to perfect day." 

Thus passed this lovely maid away, 
And, while the sun's descending ray 

Still lingered in the room, 
The flower that graced this earth awhile 
Was taken from its native Isle, 

In Paradise to bloom. 

She wakes — and hark ! what heavenly sound 
Is that ? why does her heart rebound 

So light, so free from pain ? 
She's still within that dying room — 
Why has it lost its look of gloom ? 

Has health returned again ? 
Bright spirit-forms she now can see. 
And asks, " What means this mystery ?" 

They point her to that bed ! 
She sees her form in death's cold sleep, 
With loving friends that o'er it weep, 

And mourn her with the dead ; 
She turns unto those spirits now — 
She looks — she sees that noble brow, 



150 THE REUNION. 

That never-absent form ; 
" I come ! I come !" she cried, and sprung 
Unto his side — then 'round him flung 
Her arms, and felt, as there she clung, 

Secure from every storm. 

Oh ! who can tell the rapturous joy, 
The love, the bliss without alloy, 

Of her fond, trusting heart 1 
They've passed through trouble, toil, and strife, 
And met in realms of endless life, 

Where sorrow has no part. 
" And have I passed the dreary shade, 
In heavenly garments, bright, arrayed — 

Or do I yet but dream ? 
Is this bright form to which I cling, 
But the weak brain's imagining — 

Or he it truly seems ?" 
He speaks, he bids her now rejoice ; 
And as she hears that spirit-voice, 

Her doubts aside are cast ; 
For now she knows her trials o'er, 
Unto that welcome, blissful shore 

Across death's stream she's passed". 

" Welcome !" that noble spirit cried ; 
" Welcome once more unto my side 



THE REUNION. 151 

Where thou shalt ever stay ! 
Together will we roam these spheres, 
Through an eternity of years, 

With naught to bar the way ; 
Long have I watched thy footsteps drear, 
Long strove the dismal way to cheer, 

But now, that duty o'er, 
Each will assist the upward way, 
And in the light of endless day 

We'll countless realms explore."" 
She looks once more upon the clay 
That's now fast hast'ning to decay — 

They've dressed it for the tomb — 
But little reck the friends that weep, 
And o'er it lonely vigils keep, 

She's still within the room — 
Ah ! for one moment could that light, 
So pure, so heavenly, pierce their sight, 

'T would chase away the gloom ! 
Now, turning from that scene of woe, 
She listens to the music low, 

Which seems advancing near ; 
Higher and higher swells the song, 
As nearer draws that angel throng 
Till she this lay can hear — 

" Sister, come, welcome home — 
Free from grief and care ; 



152 THE REUNION. 

Find a rest with the blest, 
In their pleasures share. 

Spirits bright, with delight 
Meet thee on the shore ; 

Welcome hands, from these bands, 
Greet thee evermore. 

In these spheres, bitter tears 
Are no longer shed ; 

Earth's dark storm, with yon form, 
Has forever fled. 

One that's dear, now is near 
To instruct the way ; 

With him press on to bliss, 
Here no longer stay ; 

By his side thou hast tried 
What was earthly joy ; 

But thou'rt free now to see 
Bliss without alloy. 

Sister, on ; thou hast won 

Victory at last ; 
Then advance, not a glance 

Backward ever cast." 



THE REUNION. 153 

Many a well-remembered face 
Amid the throng she now can trace, 

As fast as they gather near ; 
And many from that happy band 
Are pressing on with friendly hand 

And welcome words of cheer. 
Could those fond hearts, by grief oppressed 
As on her form they gaze their last, 

But turn their weeping eyes 
Where spirits loved, on that blessed shore 
Are greeting her, oh ! never more 

Would murmuring doubts arise ; 
But now that lifeless, soulless clay 
Within its narrow tomb they lay, 

And turn them to their home — 
One long-loved form was missing there, 
And all seemed desolate and bare 

As light would never come ; 
But she they sadly mourn as dead, 
By that fond, loving spirit led, 

Now roams the seraph sphere. 
And listens, with enraptured soul, 
To blissful songs that 'round her roll, 

And greet her gladdened ear ; 
Supported now by friendly hands, 
Guarded by loving angel bands, 

She mounts the azure skies ; 
She leaves the earth far, far behind, 
7* 



154 THE REUNION. 

And swifter than the viewless wind, 

On seraph pinions flies ; 
Higher and higher still she mounts, 
And deeper drinks from heavenly founts 

While gazing on those scenes, 
Till rapt and swallowed up in love 
And bliss unspeakable, above 

Her wildest, fondest dreams ; 
But, while she soars on angel wings, 
And blissful draughts from heavenly springs 

O'erpower her soul with light, 
She'll ne'er forget the earthly home, 
Where in youth's summer hour she roamed, 
But strive to cheer the deep'ning gloom — 

Dispel the settled night. 
She hovers 'round the friends she's left, 
Brings comfort to the hearts bereft, 

And lights the dreary way ; 
She cheers the struggling, fainting mind 
That lingers in despair behind, 

O'erburdened with the clay. 

Thus, when her race on earth was run, 
Her life of usefulness begun, 

Who would not hail the hour 
When called to leave the weary form — ■ 
To leave earth's cares, its gloomy storm, 

For heaven's peaceful bower ? 



THE REUNION. 155 

What on this earth was there to bind 
That pure, that heaven-exalted mind, 

Or check her upward way ? 
She was indeed a child of grief, 
Nor could her spirit find relief 

Confined within the clay ; 
Until death came, with friendly hand, 
And freed her from the hateful band 

That held her to the earth 
She little else than sorrow knew, 
But soon her happy spirit flew 

Where Jove and joy have birth ; 
Encircling now that heavenly height, 
Upon the blissful, glorious sight 

Those wond'ring spirits gaze ; 
That youth so brave, that maid so fair, 
Are filling now the fragrant air 
With words of trusting, thankful prayer, 

And notes of endless praise. 



Sadly sighs the wailing breeze 
To the startled, rustling trees ; 
Whispering its mournful tale 
To the wild-flowers of the vale ; 
Sobbing to the rippled stream, 
Till its ever-shifting gleam 
Vanishes, as 'neath a cloud — 
Till the gentle wild-flower, bowed 
To the earth, in silence weeps ; 
While the tender vine that creeps, 
Joining tendrils with the leaves 
Of the forest monarch, grieves 
That the wind such saddened tale 
Truthful whispers through the vale. 

Thus the wind its story told — 
Sweeping playful through the wold, 
Sporting now with withered leaf, 
Now with imitative grief — 
Shrieking through the gnarled root, 
At the aged oak-tree's foot ; 



THEBETRAYED. 157 

Darting now o'er sunny glade, 
Kissing cheek of willing maid, 
Seeking then the merry rill, 
Leaping down the shaded hill, 
Bathing in its darkest pool 
Over-heated breath to cool. 

In a gloomy, caverned glen, 
Where man's foot had hardly been, 
Paused I for a moment, where, 
With a look of fixed despair, 
By a limpid spring reclined, 
Wildly talking to the wind, 
Fairest maid of earthly mold ; 
Pale her cheek, and deathly cold 
Was each water-dripping hand, 
With which she the pebbled sand, 
From that ever-bubbling spring 
Hastened by her side to bring. 
Then she'd spread each raven lock 
On the mossy cushioned rock, 
Laughing, as each tangled tress 
She entwined with water-cress, 
Dripping from that lonely brook ; 
Then with wild, inquiring look 
Down the tangled glen she'd gaze, 
While her feeble voice she'd raise 
To a wild, unearthly strain, 



158 THE BETRAYED. 

Half of pleasure, half of pain ; 
Now a joyous, happy note 
Issued from her trembling throat, 
Changing to a fiercer sound, 
Waking dismal echoes 'round, 
Sinking to such plaintive trill 
That the merry, whirling rill 
Lingered in a shady nook, 
Wond'ring, till it saw the look 
That despair will ever trace, 
Unmistaken, on her face ; 
Kissing kindly, then, the hand 
Which she buried 'neath its sand, 
Sadly silent on it swept, 
And the maiden's sorrows wept ; 
Wept, while it this changing lay 
Heard upon its bounding way. 

" 'Neath a wild-wood's cooling shade 
Where our happy vows were made, 

Wander I so cheerily ; 
In the over-arching trees, 
Joining with the whisp'ring breeze, 

Birds are singing merrily ; 

Yet he lingers, lingers still, 
While adown the distant hill 
Creep the shadows steadily ; 



THE BETRAYED. 159 

Once I could not breathe his name, 
But my own, returning, came 
From his lips so readily ; 

Downward creeps the cruel shade, . 
Stretches o'er the open glade, 

Creeping, oh ! so drearily ; 
Still I, watching, wait to greet, 
Listen for his ling'ring feet, 

Lonely listen wearily. 

Still he comes not ; is it so — 
Must I disappointed go, 

Roaming, roaming wearily? 
Has he then forgot the vow — 
Whispered as it seems but now, 

While the birds sang cheerily 1 

Peace, my struggling heart, be still ; 

Peace, each throbbing vein ; 
Wait ; the shadows on the hill 

Bid you wait again : 
Wait ; thy weary watching's done — 
Ended with the sinking sun. 

Said he not he'd meet me here, 

Ere the shadows fell ? 
But 'twas in the fading year 



160 THE BETRAYED. 

When he bid farewell ; 
Weary weeks have passed since then- 
Will he never come again? 

They have cursed me for my shame 

Since we parted last, 
And upon my wretched name 

Shadows have been cast ; 
Even now they dark'ning fall 
O'er my heart like gloomy pall. 

Only curses greet my ear 

When I seek my home, 
Look of scorn for pity's tear — 

Friendless thus I roam ; 
Peace, my whirling brain, be still, 
Night is creeping down the hill. 

Night is creeping, while I, weeping, 

List his step in vain ; 
Fancies frightful, then delightful, 

Dart across my brain ; 
Oh, my weary, weary head, 
Would 'twas resting with the dead !" 

Singing thus, the drooping maid 
Gathered up each dripping braid, 



THE BETRAYED. 

While her tears kept mournful time 
To the crush'd heart's wailing rhyme ; 
Then she changed that song of grief — 
In her hair twined faded wreath, 
Laughed to see the gloomy shade 
Stealing o'er the forest glade ; 
Down the glen gave parting look, 
Whisper'd to the list'ning brook, 
Bidding it a sad good-night, 
Promising, when morning light 
Took its first, its early rest 
On the tiny billow's breast, 
She would haste that light to greet — 
Haste the absent one to meet ; 
Lihg'ring then, she left the place, 
And with feeble, trembling pace, 
Refuge from the night-mist chill, 
Rolling down the darkening hill, 
Sought beneath some roof to find — 
Silent, following behind, 
Heard I curses, deep and loud, 
Greet her soul with' sorrow bowed ; 
Saw I then the Christian spurn — 
To the night air, helpless, turn 
With reproach her tender frame ; 
Then unto her, softly, came, 
As she faint, despairing stood, . 
From the borders of the wood, 



161 



162 THE BETRAYED. 

Music sweet of dancing wave, 
From a stream whose ripples lave 
Many a drooping forest leaf ; 
First, they seemed like wail of grief, 
Echoes of her own soft cry ; 
Then they floated gently by 
With a soothing, magic strain, 
Whisp'ring to her grief-crazed brain 
That her troubled, aching breast 
Might in their embrace find rest. 

Then I saw the sudden start, 
As, within her wretched heart, 
Strongest principle of life 
With that syren song had strife. 
To the first inclining fast 
Was she, when a Christian passed; 
Scornful scanned her hollow face, 
Then increased his pious pace, 
Sneering words upon his tongue ; 
Then the dark waves louder sung 
That, beneath their sparkling tide, 
From that look of holy pride — 
Giving to her bleeding heart 
Keener pain than venomed dart — 
She might sleep, nor heartless jeer, 
Mocking laugh, or curses hear ; 
Yielding to that magic spell, 



THE BETRAYED. 163 

Sought she then the forest dell : 
Still I followed on the bank, 
Water-flowers and rushes rank 
Bowed their heads beneath her feet ; 
A decaying trunk her seat 
Made she, till each braided tress, 
Loosened, did its mate caress ; 
Singing mournfully the while, 
With a saddened, wand'ring smile 
Gazed she on each flowing lock ; 
Lightly scaled a frowning rock 
'Round which waters wildly swept ; 
Changing then her mood, she wept ; 
And each droop'd, mist-dripping leaf 
Joined the maiden's lonely grief, 
While the never-ceasing spray, 
Trickling down its channeled way, 
From the mossy granite fell 
With fresh speed, as pity's spell 
Softened e'en its hardened bed, 
Till it mournful tear-drops shed. 

'Cross her fevered brow I swept, 
And, as scalding tears she wept, 
Brushed them from each drooping lid, 
Whispered her that death was hid 
'Neath the silver-crested wave ; 
But in vain I strove to save 



164 THE BETRAYED. 

From that doom the maiden fair ; 
Words of mine, like idle air, 
Pass'd her ears unheeded by ; 
With one wild, despairing cry 
From the spray- wet cliff she sprung, 
While the dark waves upward flung— 
To the maiden's coming greet — 
Their chill arms her form to meet ; 
Then I saw them madly whirl 
Onward with the struggling girl ; 
Saw one fierce, convulsive grasp, 
Heard one smothered, gurgling gasp 
Followed by a feeble moan, 
Then was with the waves alone. 

Hushed the tale, and onward sped, 
As the scene renewed it fled, 
The sad wind ; while trailing vine, 
Lily pale and eglantine, 
Joined each trembling moistened leaf 
In a mingled wail of grief 
At the maiden's mournful fate ; 
Wond'ring why each friendly gate 
'Gainst the one who bore the sin 
Should be closed, while safe within, 
Welcomed was the tempter vile ; 
Wond'ring thus, they drooped awhile, 
Till with evening dews there came 



THE BETRAYED. 165 

Echoes of the lost one's name ; 

Sounding not in saddened wail ; 

Shrieking not in moaning gale ; 

Stealing 'stead in gentle sigh, 

Such as breathes when Autumn's sky 

With unruffled beauty glows ; 

Such as fans the opening rose, 

'Neath the pure, unclouded moon — 

Or, at sultry hour of noon 

Breathes upon the lily's leaf, 

Till its seeming weight of grief 

Is forgotten, and it rears, 

Dripping still with pearly tears, 

Its pale cheek of purest white, 

Thankful, to the offered light. 

Gently thus her name was heard, 

And, as by some magic word, 

Was each rising murmur stilled ; 

And a joyous feeling thrilled 

Through each drooping leaf and flower 

Of that ancient forest bower ; 

For they knew that she was there, 

Silent moving through the air. 

Changed they then their sobs of woe 
To the breeze, that sadly slow 
Whispered them the mournful tale, 
As again it swept the vale, 



166 THE BETRAYED. 

Quickly told the tidings glad ; 
Then it changed its sighings sad, 
Paused to sweep the ling'ring tears — 
Remnants left of passing fears — 
From o'erburdened stalk and limb, 
Joined a while the thankful hymn 
Raised by them, that earthly wrong 
Could alone to earth belong ; 
That, in the creative mind 
Justice perfect she could find ; 
Justice, free from base alloy ; 
Justice, that would not destroy, 
But assist her wretched mind 
Rest by men denied, to find. 
Left it then the smiling bower, 
Whispered to each weeping flower 
That the morning's saddened tale 
Bowed, in sorrow, through the vale, 
Of the rest that she had found ; 
Then arose a joyful sound 
From each forest, hill, and dale, 
That had joined the morning's wail. 



Silence, unbroken silence, reigns where late 

The ringing laugh and sportive jest were heard. 

Telling of hearts, as then, unclouded by 

The cares of rudimental life ; the rich, 

Exotic plants, whose perfume loads the air, 

Till it would seem that Persia's boasted breeze 

Its rarest gifts had brought, now droop as if 

In grief ; pictures, gazing upon us from 

Their draped, half-hidden frames, seem weeping 'neath 

Their painted smiles ; and in its gloomy folds 

Of black, severe the cold, unfeeling glass 

Reflects but sorrow. 

Why is this ? why should 
Those beaming smiles be changed to bitter tears ? 
Why should these rooms that late re-echoed songs 
Of joy, now silent as the grave appear — 
Like some vast charnel-house, prepared for the 
Reception of the crushed and withered hopes 
Accumulated through long years of joy ? 
All nature smiles without ; the air is filled 
With gladsome sounds ; even the rattling cart 
Seems striving in its rough, unpolished way 



168 THE SPIRIT-BORN. 

To time with " feathered songsters of the grove," 
Whose little throats are warbling notes of praise, 
Till prisoned mates, finding resistance to 
The gilded wires in vain, join in the song, 
Though with a somewhat saddened trill ; but here 
Those sounds are muffled, and the reviving 
Sun, whose welcome beams call forth these grateful 
* Songs, seeks vainly for an entrance through the 
Drooping folds, that fain would banish every 
Ray of light from these deserted rooms ; or 
If, perchance, a struggling ray finds entrance 
Through some careless opening, it dimly falls, 
Tinged of a somber hue, upon the black 
Draped walls, and, by the contrast, to the scene 
Adds deeper gloom. 

" Dead ! dead ! my child ! my child ! 
And hast thou gone forever from my sight ? 
The light that glanced from out those beaming eyes, 
Now glazed in death, forever banished hence? 
Those little hands, so still, so icy cold, 
That ever could with their caresses cheer 
My loneliest hours, forever stilled 1 oh, no ! 
It can not be ! she does but sleep ! I sure 
Again shall hear that darling voice — shall feel 
Those loved caresses — the music of those 
Feet are not — they can not be — hushed to a 
Never-ending silence ; we can not part! 
My child ! my child ! awake, and leave me not 



THE SPIRIT-BORN. 169 

Alone in this cold world. Alas ! no voice 
Responds to mine — that stiffened tongue is mute ; 
The seal of death upon those precious lips 
Is placed ; the music of that angel-voice 
Is hushed, and I am desolate. She's gone ! 
They tell me to a happy home — but where 1 
Her form is still before my eyes ; the curls 
Through which her smiles but yesterday burst forth, 
Like April sun from golden-tinted clouds, 
Are clustering to day upon 

This marble brow — these lips are hers, and e'en 
The smile — they ever wore when in her happy 
Tranquil mood — is resting on them ; all, all 
Are hers but this dread silence ; this belongs 
To death, and dooms her to the cold, damp grave. 
The grave ? oh, no ! I can not lay this head, 
Which hath so often pillowed on my breast, 
Within that dark abode, for winter storms 
To rage above, with no kind hand to wipe 
The gath'ring mould from this cold cheek — oh, no ! 
I can not leave her there. If I could feel 
That what I love no longer dwells within 
This darling form, then I, perchance, might part 
From it with less of grief; might yield it to 
Its gloomy bed without this severing 
Of soul. But thus we can not part. Oh, death ! 
Whose envious dart hath stilled that bounding pulse, 
Release her from these icy bonds till she 
8 



170 THE SPIRIT-BORN. 

This awful mystery can declare. 'Tis vain! 
My prayers return unanswered, and I weep, 
Alone. My child ! my child ! — would I had died 
For thee, my child !" 

Thus, bending o'er the cold 
Remains of her whose merry laugh so late 
Re-echoed through these gorgeous rooms, with crushed, 
Despairing heart, the mother sobbed her grief; 
The precious bud that sprang from widowed stalk, 
As if its lonely way to cheer, was nipp'd 
By envious, death-biting frost, and drooped, 
And died, ere yet its perfumed beauties scarce 
Had opened to the wooing breeze, leaving 
The parent stalk all desolate. What then 
On earth could cheer the mother's heart? the light 
Had fled that blessed her lonely hearth, she knew 
Not where ; 'tis true the man of God had told 
Her to a happy clime ; but then he placed 
A gulf impassable between the hearts 
That lived but in each other's presence once, 
And deemed it grief to separate e'en for 
An hour ; with such a gulf between, could she 
Be happy ? Judging by her own stricken 
Heart, the mother's doubts would rise until she, 
In her wand'ring agony, upbraided 
Death for the forced separation, which left 
Of hope not e'en a flitting ray to cheer 
The darkening future. 



THE SPIRIT-BORN. 171 

But, hark ! too sweetly- 
Soft to come from mortal lips, slow music 
Steals in wavy trills throughout that darkened 
Room ; perhaps too pure for mortal ears to 
Catch the strains which float above that darling 
Head, and seem connected, as it were, by 
Some mysterious link to that fixed cherub 
Smile, which lingers on those icy lips so 
Pure, so colorless, that one would deem them 
Freshly chiseled by some master hand from pure 
Unsullied marble, but for that smile — which 
Mortal hand, howe'er so high it ranked in 
Art, would fail to even imitate ; fresh 
Bursts of music fill the darkened air, till 
All this dreary room alive with angel 
Voices seems; but still the mourner hears them 
Not ; she only thinks of her she loved as 
Dead, or, at the least, within some far-off, 
Dreamy place, with but a chance that they would 
Meet again forever. Oh, what ajiope 
For stricken heart like hers — how desolate 
It seemed ! could she but leave that hope, so gross, 
Material, and worthless, for the truth 
Nature would teach ; would she but turn within 
Her eyes, so dim with tears ; forget awhile 
The outward world and list the teachings of 
Her own unbiased soul, quick would those gloomy 
Doubts give place to brighter hopes ; no longer 



172 THE SPIRIT-BORN. 

Would she in death a hideous monster see, 

Created for the curse of man, but hail 

It as a messenger from Heaven sent, 

To clothe with never-fading robes of joy 

And immortality the waiting soul ; 

The room, whose threshold it had crossed, she would 

In gloomy folds of black no longer drape ; 

But view it as the place, not where her child 

Had died, but where its little spirit, ere 

Yet 'twas stained by long abiding with the 

Flesh, had laid aside the shell which held it 

To the gross, material earth, unwilling 

Prisoner, e'en in its infancy ; she 

Would not roam the distant fields of space, in 

Mournful search for that mysterious home where 

Man, in simple ignorance, had told her 

Dwelt her absent child, to turn disheartened 

From the search — as now she did — again to 

Gaze with agony renewed upon the 

Fast decaying form ; to mark the fearful 

Ravages of death, and in despair feel 

Stealing through her half-crazed brain the dreadful 

Thought — " this is the end of life ;" within the 

Grave our hopes, our fears, our joys, our sorrows 

All are hushed. Oh, no ! she'd not extend her 

Search to distant regions, nor would it be 

Thus fruitless ; a gentle voice, soft as the 

Whisperings of love, would murmur to her 



THE SPIRIT-BORN. 173 

Yearning soul — " Mother, thy side I have not 

Left ; 'tis true I've laid aside the worthless 

Robe which late I wore, but, clothed in garments 

Of heavenly texture, now I hover near 

Thy heart, to ease it of its load of grief; 

Above those cold remains no longer weep ; 

With me they've naught to do ; like garments soiled 

And rent, aside they're cast, something to be 

Forgotten :" thus would her sobs be stilled and 

She, perchance, in calmer mood might hear some 

Ling'ring strain of the seraphic song sung 

Now, e'en here, within this dreary room, by 

Smiling spirit-forms, her angel-child to 

Welcome, and in the pauses of those notes 

Hold converse sweet with the invisible 

But ever-present form of her that now 

She mourns as dead. 

Thus might it be with all 
Who agonize — refusing comfort o'er 
The husk, the outward covering of friends, 
Ere dread decay forever forces them 
Apart — would they but in their strength arise 
And soar above the narrow dome 'neath which 
They vainly seek for light ; would they but range, 
Freed from their superstitious chains, the fields 
Of nature, from her pages study, and 
Seek the truth, not from the lips of others, 
But in the never-failing streams which have 



174 THE SPIRIT-BORN. 

Their rise deep in the inner caverns of 
The soul, their head the germ divine planted, 
By God, in every human breast, their mouth 
The boundless universe. 



Weary with gazing on the strife that men — 

With brother, blessed word, still lingering on 

Their lips — hold with their fellow-men for vain 

Supremacy ; sick at sight of wrongs, of 

Bitter, burning wrongs heaped by the strong 

Upon the weak, the law-defenseless head ; 

Pained with the mingled sighs and groans that from 

The suffring thousands of the earth arise 

In one vast, wailing chorus to the God 

Of the oppressed, for freedom from the chains 

That ages long have rusted to the flesh, 

Hardened and seared by constant wear, till now 

They scarce would feel their weight, but for the worm, 

The canker of that rust, which ever gnaws 

And, as it deeper eats, creates a pain 

That's keener felt than e'en the last, which seemed 

As it were insupportable — 

Weary 
Of all these bitter groans and tears, awhile 
I wandered from the busy haunts of men, 
Alone, to try if I my scattered thoughts 
From their confusion could recall, and there. 



176 A VISION. 

In solitude unbroken, rearrange 

Their broken ranks in order's firm array, 

Til] I might rightly judge if what I saw 

Of earthly wrongs was but the picture of 

A heat-distempered brain ; or if such wrongs 

Indeed were done to man by brother man, 

Unnoticed for their commonness. 

A spring, 
Nestling almost unseen beneath a rock, 
Whose roughened surface aged velvet moss 
And creeping plants had leveled to a seat 
Luxurious and soft as palace lounge could 
Boast, my wand'ring steps approached ; the arching 
Foliage overhead, driving aslant the 
Sun's descending rays,, seemed as inviting 
Beneath their welcome shade the weary soul, 
To find repose awhile from busy scenes 
Of earth ; a moment in uncertainty 
I paused, then yielding to the languor that 
With mysterious slowness enveloped every 
Sense, sunk half unconscious to the flowered 
Turf which circled 'round that limped spring like 
Oasis in a desert wild, a spot of 
Life amid a world of desolation, 
Or island-paradise surrounded by 
A boundless, dreary ocean. 

But soon a 
Change came slowly creeping, o'er the scene ; the 



A VISION. 177 

Spring, which sparkled but a moment since in 
Conscious purity, had changed its peaceful, 
Home-like notes to dashing cadences ; and 
As it forced its heedless way, bounding from 
Rock to rock, methought, though pure itself as 
Yet, fragments impure it bore upon its 
Bosom, that, almost imperceptibly 
Dissolving as they passed along, mingled 
With the unconscious stream, giving a tint 
Of sadder hue to its bright, dancing waves ; 
But as I longer looked I saw fresh streams 
From fountain heads as pure as that from which 
It started, hasting with joy to cast their 
Mite upon its smiling breast ; and then, as 
Mingled into one they passed along, I 
Marked their purity combined cast off the 
Shade which had commenced to dim the early 
Brightness of the stream. 

But while 1 mused, the 
Scene again was changed — the brook was now a 
Wildly leaping stream, resistless dashing 
On ; and though upon its breast floated huge 
Logs, borne by its waves from forests never 
By man disturbed, the germ of purity 
Which from that sparkling spring commenced, refused 
To mingle with the drift it swept along ; 
Or if it sometimes caught a tinge from what 
It bore, quick gathered all its force, and cast 
8* 



178 A VISION. 

The offending fragments on its grassy shore 
To linger in obscurity, until at length 
Some wave adventurous that rose above the 
Rest received it, purified by age, and 
Bore it from the place. 

Thus, though its roaring 
Notes sounded more free and wild, it still was 
Pure ; but now huge fabrics upon its banks 
Appeared, and, disturbed by art, nature was 
Changed. Through, channels dug by hands the torrent 
Rushed, and, at his bidding, wrought the work of 
Puny man ; then, its duty ended, sought 
Again its bed — but, ah, how changed ! Its pride, 
Its brightness, all had disappeared, and but 
A turbid, sluggish mass now met the eye, 
That vainly strove to cast its filthiness 
Upon the shore ; each struggling effort but 
Increased the filth, for nature no longer 
Smiled upon its banks : the flowered turf had 
Changed to filthy streets, and each returning 
Wave their drainings brought, till, in despair, the 
Hopeless task it fled, and hurried on to 
Hide its filth and shame beneath the ocean's 
Dingy wave. 

• Awhile I gazed in sadness 
On the scene, then, sorrowing, turned away to 
Leave the place, but found a stranger by my 
Side. Although his silver locks betokened 



A VISION. 179 

Age, the piercing glance of youthful eye and 
Form erect, spoke that within secure from 
Time's relentless hand — not one of earthly 
Mold. A reverence and awe crept o'er my 
Soul. He spake : 

" Oh, mortal man ! the vision 
Is for thee — reflect and profit by the 
Lesson ; the smiling spring, half hidden by 
Sweet flowers and trailing vines, with not a speck 
To mar its beauty, is mind immortal, 
Emanating from the bosom of its 
God, pure and unspotted, to commence its 
Course in mortal frame ; with joyful songs it 
Changes to a running stream, and, bounding, 
Leaps from rock to rock, changing to songs more 
Wild, but still as pure ; for though it meets with 
Long-established creeds, assisted by fresh 
Streams from nature's fount it sweeps them on, in 
Size increasing, until still more bulky 
Obstacles it moves along, nor suffers 
By the contact ; for if the stream's less pure 
From such a burden, it quick aside is 
Cast, till minds too strong to be o'erpowered by 
Its impurities resistless sweep it 
From its long abiding place — a horror 
To the shrinking waves no more. 

And thus it 
Rushes on, by its own workings casting 



180 A VISION. 

Impurities aside ; and ever pure 
As this it would have been if left to move 
Along in nature's path ; but when its bed, 
Obstructed by minds for selfish purpose, 
Is left, seeking to find its level, and 
Swept through other channels than designed by- 
God, its purity o'erbalanced by the 
Yielding earth through which it rushed was lost, nor 
E'er regained till buried 'neath the ocean's 
Wave, when, on the bosom of the mist, it 
Once more ascended to its native seat, 
The paradise of God." 

He ended, and 
I found myself reclining by the spring 
Where I had slept The sun was bathing all 
The western hills with his expiring light ; 
The lowing herd returning from the fields, 
And parent bird seeking its happy nest, 
Whispered of home, and bade me once more seek 
The haunts of men ; but as my ling'ring steps 
Bore me from the enchanted place, I said, 
'• Henceforth, with me the creeds, the lessons taught 
By men, shall yield to the divinity 
Of nature." 



®n gtiltt. 

What wild commotfon's this ? discordant sounds 

And fearful strife in heaven, the fountain head 

Of peace 1 — the fields where thought impure has ne'er 

Before found rest, the battle-ground become 

Of hosts of cherubs and of seraphs bright, 

Who until this dread hour were purity 

Perfected ? The throne of God, the only 

Great creative mind, where universal 

Love has sway omnipotent, become the 

Cause of dev'lish strife between those angel, 

Heaven-exalted minds ; revenge within, till 

Now, the peaceful breasts of all, opposer 

And opposed, creating, and in one vast 

Uprising the work of an Eternity 

Of ages making void and useless ! Why 

Is this ? the thinking mind would ask ; why should 

The Father, infinite in power and love, 

From whom all knowledge springs, create, if it 

Is sin to upward look, within the breasts 

Of cherished, happy children such desire 1 

Did the omnipresent One of secret 



182 OLD FABLES'. 

Danger dream, in distant ages of the 
Future and, by this stratagem desire, 
The danger probe ? or did justice — mighty 
Attribute of Deity — urge on the 
Strife as punishment severe for early, 
Undeveloped sins by them committed 
In some rudimental sphere, ere yet they 
Reached the station glorious now occupied 1 
Or did Love, attribute of all the most 
Divine, counsel the act, to guard the power 
Infinite, who created all desire 
(For till that time sin was not known), against 
Some future thought created by itself? 
Or was it that he, who was the Sun, the 
Center of all glory, by the mighty 
Act might, by man, the puny work of his 
Almighty hand, be glorified, that now 
The fields, where love and harmony alone 
Have right, should echo to the yells of fierce 
Revenge, while discord holds glad jubilee 
Exulting at the sight ? Was scene like this 
Needed to guard 'gainst future, or e'en from 
Present danger omnipotence divine ? 
Would justice, holy name, deserve to rouse 
A feeling impious within the, till then, 
Sinless breast of cherubim, disturbing 
Holy thoughts of ages, the beauty of 
Its impartial laws to prove — then, upon 



OLD FABLES. 183 

The mind it thus urged to the deed, inflict 

Revengful punishment ? Was't attribute 

Of love to gender hate implacable 

Between those hosts ? Was't love urged on the strife 

And laughed aloud as mind immortal, with 

Uplifted hand, smote down its brother mind ; 

Then o'er the tortures of the weaker hung 

And gloated at the sight ? Was't love that smiled 

To see revenge hold feast upon those plains, 

And, while it feasted, with its greedy eyes 

Into the future peer, and ghastly grin 

At thought of coming victims — or throwing 

Watchful care, love, justice, all aside would 

Glory, if indeed Creator can by 

Creature's act be glorified, insure 

From fiendish strife like this ? What glory dwells 

In vengeance, that purity incarnate 

The hellish attribute should seek 1 Copies 

Divinity from man, that scarce progressed 

Above the brute does battle fierce against 

His brother unprogressed ; and, the slaughter 

Ended, great glory to himself receives 

That he, by treach'rous cunning, or else by 

Brutal force, his brother has o'erpowered? 

Like man, does't raise victorious shout above 

The bloody battle-field, and glorify 

Itself that its own mighty power has such 

Fearful carnage wrought ? Is't in such vengeful 



184 OLDFABLES. 

Scene divinity for glory seeks — or 

If, by causes mentioned now, the bloody 

Strife is not produced, whence comes that fiendish 

Shout which fills the whole celestial air, of 

Deadly combat telling, and in its wild, 

Tumultuous, roar drowning the peaceful 

Angel-notes, which, undisturbed until this 

Time, were sounded ever from seraphic 

Harps — higher and higher rising, each strain 

More perfect than the last, which perfection's 

Incarnation seemed. 

The reason for this 
Tumult wild within the peaceful walls of 
Heaven, this wondrous change from holy thoughts to 
Aspirations sinful, the mind that hears 
The tale has right to ask, nor should be deemed 
Presumptuous that it seeks the cause to know ; 
For should it, if a cause can not be given 
For this most wondrous mythologic tale, 
Be censured that it will not blindly bow 
Before foundationless authority ? 
" Thus saith the word," to minds acknowledging 
The right to reason — first, best gift of God — 
Is not sufficient proof, though it may lean 
Somewhat toward the word, it still asks for 
Cause, and ever will, till cause is given or 
It rejects the causeless tale. 



OLD FABLES. 185 

Then wonder • 
Not, ye who have crushed that germ implanted 
In your breasts by Deity ; ye who of sin 
In knowledge prate, and fear to turn your eyes 
Within for wisdom's light ; wonder not that 
Some should ask a cause for monstrous tale like 
This ; but wonder 'stead that ye, unblushing 
For your ignorance, such superstitious 
Tale accept because in ancient records 
It is found ; ye who of ignorance and 
Superstition prate of those who modern 
Truths receive by facts supported, look to 
Your walls, for brittle glass is easy crushed ; 
Retire into the inner room, or some 
Stray missile, by yourself projected, may 
Rebound against your fragile structure ; the 
Beam remove from your distorted vision 
First, then seek the mote, if mote there be, 
Within your brother's eye ; but, till the beam's 
Removed, presume no more to glaring 
Imperfections seek in others. 



%\t fast of i\t %t)t Pan. 

Where the broad Pacific's waters 

Lave the golden, western strand, 
With their weeping wives and daughters, 

Gather a decaying band — 
And their eagle eyes are flashing, 

While they muse upon their wrongs ; 
'Bove the roar of breakers dashing 

Rise their wildly wailing songs — 

" From the valleys and the mountains, 

Which our fathers made their home, 
From their sparkling rills and fountains, 

We are driven forth to roam ; 
They, the race we hailed with pleasure, 

Coming o'er the eastern waves, 
Rob us of our only treasure, 

Drive us from their sacred graves. 

" Love we not the quiet rivers 

Winding through our native vales ? 



THE LAST OF THE RED MAN. 187 

Dear is every leaf that quivers 

Shaken by autumnal gales ; 
Dearer far are shadows streamin 

O'er our fathers' lonely graves — ■ 
Than the glorious sunlight beaming 

On the vast Pacific's waves. 

" They the pale-face, worn and weary, 

Welcomed on the freezing sand ; 
In their forests, wild and dreary, 

Greeted them with friendly hand ; 
Had they known that they were clasping 

To their breasts a poisoned dart, 
Closer would have been the grasping 

Till they'd crushed the serpent's heart. 

" Warmed that heart 'neath their embraces 

Till it gained a giant's size, 
Then, before their startled faces, 

Did a monster form arise ; 
Silent it had gained the power 

Under which they groaning reel, 
But to which they will not cower 

Till it does their vengeance feel. 

" Soon the council-fires were burning 
And the war-whoop sounded loud — 



188 THE LAST OF THE RED MAN. 

From the chase, the braves quick turning 
Join the wild, excited crowd ; 

Then the tomahawk, unburied, 
Desolation hurled around ; 

Their sad fate it only hurried, 

Crushed them nearer to the ground. 

" Ever since we've been retreating ; 

Still they, eager, grasp for more — 
Injury and wrong repeating 

Till we've gained the farther shore — 
Oh, Great Spirit ! shall we longer 

Sink beneath oppression's bands 1 
Shall we yield us to the stronger — 

Lick, like dogs, their tyrant hands 1 

" No ! the soul within is burning, 

Though 'tis helpless, crushed, and weak ! 
And the heart the tongue is spurning 

That such thought it e'er could speak ! 
While the hunting-grounds above us 

Are not closed against our feet, 
While those spirit-forms still love us, 

We with smiles our fate will meet." 

Hushed the song, and then advancing 
To the rock-encircled shore, 



THE LAST OF THE RED MAN. 189 

Not a soul was backward glancing 

At the homes they'd see no more ; 
Fathers, mothers, sons and daughters, 

'Neath the foaming, tossing wave 
Of the deep Pacific's waters 

Lie within its coral caves. 



fojjnss at t%t matla. 

What means the sound that breaks upon my ear, 
Like murm'rings of a far-off sea of waves 
That dash, untiring, on the tow'ring cliffs, 
Which, like mighty bulwarks, guard the island 
Vale 'gainst their advances ? 

A growing power 
Is moving through the earth, and struggling minds 
That long have been confined boldly refuse 
To tamely, blindly submit the God-like 
Attributes that dwell within to others' 
Dictates ; but, conscious in their might, arise 
And shake as 'twere with giant strength the galling 
Fetters from their hands ; the heaving earth is 
Struggling to be free, and rent in many 
Places is the vail of ignorance, which 
Like a gloomy pall has shrouded long the 
Minds of men. 

Through dreary paths, darker than 
Darkest night — so dark 'tis hard to virtue 
Tell from vice — man long' has wandered, seeking 
For some ray of light to cheer his gloomy 



PROGRESS OF THE WORLD. ±91 

Pilgrimage on earth ; for there is ever 

That within him burns, tyrant oppression 

Strives in vain to quench ; a something stronger 

Far than outward man, which, crush it as he 

May, will rise again, and, rising, ever 

Point above. Something there is which tells of 

That beyond the grov'ling, selfish earth on 

Which he dwells, that bids him soar through regions 

Far above what telescopic eye can 

See, as minds, imprisoned minds can ever 

Comprehend. 

Though some have ever lived who 
Did not fear to follow what their inner 
Promptings taught, the glorious destiny of 
Man fulfill, and soar above the earth, yet 
Most have stilled those thoughts deep back into the 
Inner temples of the heart, driven the 
Cooling, sparkling drops that, like a never 
Ceasing spring, their glad, refreshing streams should 
Have sent forth, and made their earthly homes a 
Paradise. 

Often the panting soul would 
Find a vent, and, unrestrained, upon the 
Air gush forth, seeking to find its level, 
But, shrinking, it would see those noble minds 
Who did not fear, feeling the truth within, 
To speak their thoughts, by all the common herd 
Treated with silent scorn, or else with rude 



192 PROGRESS OF THE WORLD. 

Contempt, because they dared to soar above 
. The willful, self-deluded crowd and learn 
More in one hour than they could comprehend 
In years — bound hand and foot by slavish chains, 
That held them fast and would not let them soar 
Above their masters. Men saw such sight, and 
Fearful lest the scorn should fall on them, drove 
Back the gushing tide ; folded their shackled 
Hands across their breasts, and bowed them to the 
Ground, with feigned humility, before the 
Fangless monster — worldly scorn. 

But now those 
Pent-up fountains burst their bounds ; and gathering 
Fresh strength by long confinement, descend from 
Distant mountains to the plain, resistless, 
Sweeping all that bars their course. The mind of 
Man no longer yields a credence blind to 
Every tale, but asks for each effect a 
Cause ; and that increasing roar, like distant 
Waves which startle every ear, is one vast 
Cry for knowledge ; and that cry increasing 
Evermore, will rise until ascends from 
The awakening earth one universal 
Shout for Liberty. And not alone from 
Southern climes will it arise, for there are 
More cruel chains than those which bind the flesh ; 
Immortal minds are groaning 'neath the bonds 
Of ignorance, of which they would be free. 



PROGRESS OF THE WORLD. 193 

From them ye hear that cry — then 'wake ! arise, 
And join the shout, nor longer slumber in 
Your chains and fondly dream, in ignorance, 
Of bliss. No longer deem it sin that your 
Immortal souls, aspiring ever, seek 
For something new ; cherish those aspirations, 
Guard them with care, and watch that no rude hand 
Shall check their course progressive. 

Rejoice, ye 
Highly favored youth, that such a glorious 
Light is dawning on the world , that the dark 
Clouds of ignorance and oppression are 
Rolling back before the rising sun of 
Freedom, disclosing to your enlightened 
Visions scenes beyond the dreams of wildest 
Ancient seer ; rejoice that, unmolested, 
You can pierce the skies and make acquaintance 
With the rolling orbs ; so distant from the 
Sister orb on which you stand, that strongest 
Unassisted eye can not discern the 
Faintest glimmer of their light ; rejoice that 
Ye can penetrate beneath your feet the 
Solid rock, and read with geologic 
Eye your own earth's history ; nor fear that 
Fools will rail and deem it sin that you should 
Seek to know the mystery of creation. 
Then onward move, for thou art highly blest 
With privilege, far, far beyond the ages 
9 



194 PROGRESS OF THE WORLD. 

Past ; look to it then, that ye do spurn them 
Not, but treasure as the apple of your 
Eye the lessons that you learn in nature's 
School. 

And ye whose noble duty 'tis to 
Teach, act well the part that on life's stage ye 
Have to play ; the audience is vast — millions 
On earth, and countless hosts who long since left 
This sphere of action, with anxious int'rest 
Gaze upon the scene ; the play is deep — yea, 
Far exceeds in depth the acts of former 
Ages, and ye hold a*part conspicuous 
On the stage ; act well that part, and teach the 
Youthful mind that fears, like eagles' young, to 
Leave its nest, to plume its wings and take an 
Upward flight ; nor fear, if it should reach the 
Foremost mind, to dart beyond and seek for 
Higher truths ; teach it its upward destiny, 
Nor bind it down, forbidding it to soar 
Above some master mind. Progression is 
The word ; let it be stamped upon your minds 
In characters of living flame ; in all 
Your teachings let that master word stand first. 



* tonfintftt. 



Who is he, yon hill ascending, 

Followed by the railing crowd 1 
Low beneath a burden bending 

To the earth his form is bowed ; 
Soldiers keeping guard around him 

Join the rabble in their cry — 
See ! in mockery they've crowned him — 

'Tis some felon doomed to die. 

Why are bitter tear-drops falling 

From that sinking felon's eyes, 
While with sneers his name they're calling, 

While around him curses rise ? 
Now with brutal rage they strike him, 

To increase his wearied pace, 
While the ruffian crowd, to spite him, 

Spit upon his gentle face ; 

Gentle still, though bruised and weary, 
Though no friendly voice he hears, 



196 THE CRUCIFIXION. 

Though, through all tjie way so dreary 
Naught but railing greets his ears. 

Sure he's some dread sin committed, 
That they thus assail him loud ; 

Not a voice that speaks him pitied 
Sounds from out the raging crowd. 

Now he turns, with looks of pity 

Halting on his upward way ; 
Gazes on that noble city, 

Silent, bows himself to pray ; 
" Heavenly Father., oh, forgive them, 

Lay not this unto their charge ; 
Though in darkness I must leave them, 

Father, now their hearts enlarge." 

While the shameful tree they're raising 

On that threat'ning, angry throng 
He with look of love is gazing — 

Can such look to crime belong ? 
Why is he this death deserving, 

He whose inmost soul is love 1 
Never from his duty swerving, 

Gentle, harmless as a dove. 

If to cheer the broken-hearted 

And to heal the sick is guilt ; 
If 'tis sin to clothe the naked, 



THE CRUCIFIXION. 197 

Truly let his blood be spilt ; 
For these crimes he's oft committed, 

Often cheered the fainting mind ; 
Grief and misery ever pitied, 

Comfort ever left behind. 

For his death the wretches clamor 

Till they nail him to the tree ; 
While they wield the torturing hammer, 

Gloat upon his agony ; 
" It is finished ! oh, forgive them !" 

That pure, gentle spirit cried ; 
" Father, of this sin relieve them — " 

Praying thus, the victim died. 

Yes, 'twas finished ! they had vented 

All their wrath upon his head ; 
He their scoffs had not resented — 

Patient, uncomplaining, bled ! 
Now the rabble throng dispersing 

Seek the city's crowded marts ; 
Silence takes the place of cursing, 

Guilt is resting on their hearts. 

For that meek, that loving spirit 

They have hunted to the death ; 
Of their passions made a merit, 

Cursed him till his latest breath ; 



1 98 T H E CRUCIFIXION. 

He their curses met with blessing, 
For us, an example bright — 

Not his wrongs with wrong redressing — 
What will conquer darkness 1 — light. 



While beneath the shade reclining 
Of these blissful, happy bowers, 

Hope around my heart is twining 
Sweet impress of future hours. 

Mingling with that joyous feeling 

Softly creeping o'er my mind, 
Visions of the future, stealing, 

Come like gentle summer's wind. 

Now the vision grows still brighter — 
Present things have left my sight — 

All around seems freer, lighter, 
Not a shade of gloomy night. 

From whence come those notes of gladness 

That now break upon my ear 1 
Not from hearts oppressed with sadness, 

Nor from slaves to doubt and fear ; 

Notes like those can ne'er be sounded 
By oppressed and bleeding souls ; 



200 THE FUTURE. 

No ! they spring from love unbounded — 
Not by form or creeds controlled ! 

From the earth, those notes ascending, 
Which has thus in love progressed ; 

Praise commencing, never ending, 

Speaks that man's no more oppressed ; 

Despots triumph there no longer, 
O'er a cringing, servile race ; 

Thanks to reason, they are stronger, 
Taking each his proper place. 

War's no longer desolating, 
Laying waste a fruitful land, 

Sin and evil fast abating — 
As before a magic wand. 

Brother no more looks on brother 
With a watchful,"jeafous fear ; 

Striving each to help the other, 
Side by side they now appear. 

Oh, how lovely ! oh, how glorious ! 

When men thus with men unite, 
Over party, sect, victorious, 

Pressing forward in their might ! 



THE FUTURE. 201 

The vision's passing from my sight, 

Fading into viewless air — 
But leaving on my soul its light, 

Firmly fixed and settled there. 

Well I know the glorious dawning 

On the earth has now begun ; 
See the first faint beams of morning 

Darting forth from reason's sun. 

Now, the rays but gild the mountains 

With a faint and feeble light ; 
But descending, like those fountains 

Downward from their mountain height, 

Soon shall spread throughout the valley, 

Bringing light and peace to all ; 
While the hosts of heav'n shall rally — 

Rally at man's urgent call. 

Then the bright millennial year, 

Christians long have watched in vain, 

In all its glory will appear — 
Pleasure then succeed to pain. 

Forward, then ! look backward never 
From the work to which thou'rt called, 

Till the earth is free forever, 
Never more by sin enthralled. 



%\t (£ ft a ftp 



Wildly on life's troubled ocean 
With an ever-changing motion, 
Ever tossed by darkest wave, 
From the cradle to the grave ; 

On the tide 

Did I ride, 
Fearful fancies by my side. 

Like a meteor's transient gleaming 
O'er some lonely wand'rer streaming- 
Darting with a lurid glare 
Through the silent midnight air, 

Was the light, 

Fleeting, bright, 
That illum'd my earthly sight. 

Like the Ignis Fatuus dancing, 
Ever beck'ning, still advancing, 
Till the traveler, beguiled, 
Lost within the forest wild 



THE CHANGE. 203 

In despair 
Grasps the air, 
Was to me that treach'rous glare. 

Like the storm-cloud on the mountain, 
Then the dark, resistless fountain 
Gath'ring in my lonely heart, 
From its turbid spring would start — • 

Onward roll, 

Till my soul 
Yielded to its mad control ; 

Nor would for a moment tarry, 
But before its wild waves carry 
All that strove to check its way, 
All that would its progress stay, 

Till Lenore, 

On this shore 
Lulls its waves for evermore ; 

Stills its course — with taper finger 
Motions, and the mad waves linger, 
Then, retiring, lakelets form, 
Sheltered from each bitter storm, 

Where glides love, 

Timid dove, 
Guarded by that smile above. 



204 THE CHANGE. 

Happy change, from grief to gladness, 
Calmest smiles for fearful madness — 
Where a raging torrent's roar 
Echoed on its craggy shore, 
Flows a stream, 
From whose gleam 
Is reflected love's pure beam. 



They've laid her to rest where the cypress waves 

Its dark boughs over her head ; 
While willows that droop o'er the scattered graves, 

And mourn for the early dead, 
Sigh low to the air, with a saddened sound, 
And sweep, in their sorrow, the freshened ground. 

« We give dust unto dust," the words were said, 

Quick followed by falling ground ; 
And they left the place with a hurried tread, 

For sad was the muffled sound — 
While weeping they thought of the youthful face 
And form they had left in that dreary place. 

They wept as they entered the empty room 
Where last they gazed on her brow, 

For the flowers she loved, though still in their bloom, 
Seemed sad and desolate now ; 

The eye was glazed that had watched them unfold, 

The hand that nourished was stiffened and cold. 



206 they've laid her to rest. 

They wandered those chambers wretched and sad, 
The light that cheered them had fled ; 

Hushed was the laugh once so ringing and glad, 
Drear silence reigned in its stead ; 

And their hearts with murmurings bitter rebel 

That death's cold hand on their darling had fell. 

Oh, could they have seen, as 'round her they pressed 

And wept at each gasping breath, 
The spirits of loved ones gone to their rest, 

Who waited approach of death 
To greet her, in loving, seraph-embrace, 
They could not have gazed with grief on that face. 

Could they have heard, as they stood 'round her grave, 

The sounds that greeted her ear, 
The cypress' dark shade, the willow's slow wave 

Would not have whispered of fear, 
But told of mansions enduring, above, 
Where, ever, is heard sweet music of love. 

■» 
They would not have left with such hurried tread 

The place where her form was laid ; 
Nor wept as the soil above her cold head 

Was thrown by the sexton's spade — 
If they could have seen that bright spirit wave 
Its joyful, freed pinions o'er the chill grave. 



they've laid her to rest. 207 

Nor would they feel, as they enter that room, 

That all was blasted and drear ; 
Could they but pierce superstition's dark gloom, 

And know their darling was near, 
Their hearts would bound with thanksgiving and praise 
That God, in his love, had shortened her days. 



§nt\. 

Oh, Death ! so long abused — so long declared 

The enemy of man ! from us receive, 

Who have thy power felt, thy just desert ! 

We met thee once with dread, and shrank, as on 

Each pallid brow thy chilling hand was laid ; 

We trembled as thy near approach we felt, 

And deemed thee monster hideous, whose greedy 

Jaws would shut us from the present world, and, 

To some uncertain state our shrinking souls 

Consign ; with fear we felt thy chill embrace, 

And struggled to release us from thy grasp ; 

But found our struggles vain and yielded, how 

Unwillingly, our panting souls unto 

Thy power resistless ; but when, resistance 

O'er, we sank into thy arms, what joy was 

Ours to find our fears imaginary dreams ; 

To find thee, not as pictured on our minds, 

The imagery of curse divine upon 

Our early parents sent — by them entailed 

To us as punishment that we were born 



DEATH. 209 

Of them — to find thee, not an endless wall 
Of separation made between the hearts 
That earthly life had mingled, as it were, 
In one ; not the destroyer of our earth- 
Formed hopes, but the change, the happy change through 
Which those hopes, those aspirations, all were 
Purified and made inhabitants more 
Fit for their celestial habitations. 
What joy was ours to find the grasp, which, spite 
Our struggles, held us firm, not the fierce grip 
Of some revengeful monster sent to force 
Us from the cherished friends that stood around ; 
But friendly hand of angel-messenger, 
From love divine, to lead us, sent, from the 
Decaying tenement of flesh, to climes 
Where joy progressive ever more should be 
Our portion heavenly ! 

A messenger 
Of love unto our weary souls thou wert 
Indeed ; and when by thee the blissful scenes 
Of paradise were opened to our view, 
Humiliating shame was mingled with 
Our 'wakening joys that we, in ignorance, 
Had ever of thee thought as curse on man 
For early disobedience sent ; and glad, 
From that time hailed thee Heaven's choicest gift 
To mortal man. 



Weep not as you gaze on the features 
That soon must be hid from your sight, 

Nor think that the least of God's creatures 
Is doomed to an eternal night. 

Away with such blasphemous thought ! 

By lessons of Jesus be taught. 

Thinkest thou that thy God would destroy 
The work which he once pronounced good 1 

Would it not his pure glory alloy, 
That ages unnumbered has stood, 

A mark to the uprising soul — 

In race to perfection the goal ? 

Thinkest thou that anger a dwelling 

Can find in that deific breast ? 
That feelings revengeful are welling 

Where purity only should rest 1 
Oh, shame ! to the unthinking mind 
That such foolish dogmas can bind ! 



DOGMAS. 211 

Oh, woe to the sheep of the shepherd 
Who wanders so far from the way ; 

Sooner changed are spots of the leopard 
Than the spirit that falleth a prey — 

Refusing each glimmer of light — 

To such worse than the darkness of night. 

Why turn to those pages so dusty 

To prop up the wavering creeds ? 
Those volumes so blotted and musty 

The reasoning minds never needs ; 
Though coming from Spirit divine, 
Disfigured is many a line. 

But stand firm the whole truth to receive 

That reason and nature will teach, 
Until you're constrained to believe 

Divinity dwelleth in each ; 
Nor yield a blind credence to one 
E'er reason has fully begun. 



Upon the shores of time 
For countless ages reared a lofty cliff 
Its noble head above the foaming waves, 
Which, unceasing from the boundless ocean 
Of immensity, with fury impotent, 
Dashed in their gathered strength against its base. 
Since first those waves commenced an endless war 
'Gainst its foundations firm, thousands of cliffs 
That seeming stood as firm as it have bowed 
Their craggy heads before the ceaseless dash 
That, grain by grain, wore out the crumbling earth 
On which they stood, until without support, 
As if reluctant thus inglorious 
To yield their boasted strength they, irresolute 
For one brief moment, wavered, then with 
A sullen plunge sank in obscurity 
Beneath the leaping spray, uphurled by the 
Rejoicing conquerors to triumph o'er 
Their downfall. 

Nations into existence sprang 



THE ROCK OF TRUTH. 213 

And passed away ; powers commenced and ended ; 

Ages grew old, and reluctant yielded 

Their tottering rule to ages just commenced, 

Which, in their turn, grew old and passed from sight 

To be forgotten ; but still that cliff, firm 

And unchanged as when implanted first by 

Deity upon that shore, hurled proudly 

Back those angry waves and laughed defiance 

At their puny efforts. 

Not like those conquered cliffs 
Were its foundations built upon the sand ; 
But as earth's center deep the solid base, 
Whose snow-capped apex reached the skies as firm, 
As indestructible as earth itself 
It stood, and stands ; and ever will o'er its 
Assailants triumph. 

That cliff is Truth. 
And waves of error, of bigotry, and 
Superstition may chafe around its base 
Until they tire and find their labor vain ; 
The winds of envy 'round its topmost peak 
May howling whirl, threat'ning to level to 
The baser plain its noble front ; malice 
With her sulphurous bolts may dart above 
Its craggy head ; her hollow growl it laughs 
To scorn, and hurls her- fiery darts defiant 
Back to feed in gloomy disappointment 
On herself. 



214 THE ROCK OF TRUTH. 

The God-implanted rock 
Will ever stand secure ; nor does it ask 
From puny man protection — itself its 
Best protection is ; then if upon its 
Rough exterior the dust of ages 
Should sometimes gather, until some poisonous 
Yine takes root, and, cautious outreaching 
With its deadly tendrils, winds slowly up 
Toward its head, fear not that those who seek 
To tear the creeping fibers from their hold 
Will in the least deface the rock itself — 
That can not be ; the soil which nourishes 
Such noxious weeds will be uprooted, and 
Where the rock was late disfigured by its 
Blighting presence will its pure face appear, 
Uninjured, uncontaminated. 

Then why oppose the efforts 
That, to your sight, blinded by prejudice, 
Perhaps would seem as if about to hurl 
That firm, moveless rock from its foundation ? 
Only the deadly vines will from its face 
Be rent, while truth outrides, triumphant , 

Every storm, nor quails at what to you seems 
Sure destruction. 



Before the gale a storm-tossed vessel flies, 

Her creaking masts, submissive, cowering 

Almost to level with the leaping foam 

That angry chafes against her dripping hull ; 

Hoarse, muttering thunders roll around, and while 

The howling winds her death-dirge sing with shriek 

And wail, forked-lightnings through her tattered sails 

Quick dart, till fabled Pandemonium's 

Glowing gates unbarred, 'twould seem had yielded 

Ready egress to its yelling crew, who, 

In the fury of their joy, were holding 

Glad jubilee all through the darkened air ; 

Like hounds' of Tartarus black, yawning waves 

Hold by her quivering side the fearful chase, 

And ever and anon leap up unto 

Her very yards, moist'ning with foaming tongues 

The loosened ropes, as they, unwillingly, 

Were waiting for the final plunge, that to 

Their greedy, gaping jaws would yield her up 

A helpless victim. 



216 THE PILOT REASON. 

Upon her groaning deck, 
With hands upraised toward the inky clouds, 
Which darker seemed to frown upon their prayers, 
Her gathered crew, with horrid calmness — such 
As despair alone can give — are waiting, 
Silent, for the expected shocl^ that to their 
Long-anticipated graves will send each 
Care-worn, weather-beaten frame. 

Not at the thought 
Of chilling grave beneath old Ocean's breast 
Do they repine, for that they long have prayed 
Might be their resting-place ; but of loved friends 
They're thinking now, who, watching, long will wait, 
And waiting hope, till wearied hope retires 
And leaves them crushed and desolate ; 'tis thoughts 
Like these that bow those manly forms unto 
That sea-strained deck in speechless agony ; 
And for the sake of those loved, waiting ones 
They pray, that this once, only, may their bark 
Be spared. 

Nor are those hardy sons of toil 
Alone in their despair ; a venerable 
Form holds firm the wheel, and fearless fronts 
The howling winds that yelling whirl among his 
Silver locks, as if they fain would wrap him 
Around with fiendish arms and drag him down 
Before that doomed bark, into the gloomy, 
Caverned billows of the deep ; the angry 



THE PILOT REASON. 217 

Spray dashes in madness o'er his wrinkled 
Brow, and shrieks its disappointment that it 
Can not sweep him from the deck ; the threat'ning 
Iiightnings dart in their wrath before his sight ; 
Yet quails he not, but firmly holds his place 
And proudly smiles, secure in conscious strength. 

Now woman's feeble shriek is heard, 
And from her spray-invaded sanctuary — 
With agony-clasped hands, her golden locks 
Disheveled by the gale, which louder shrieks 
At her appearance wild — rushes a form 
Of youth and beauty once, now only of 
Despair the picture, to make more perfect 
The fearful scene ; upon the breast of age 
She cowering sinks and mute implores, with looks 
Which louder speak than words, protection ; 
While the fierce billows higher, wilder leap, 
As if in joy that one more victim waits 
For the last, dread scene of this heart-crushing 
Tragedy. 

Deeper the thunders roll, 
And fiercer lightnings flash, until the last 
One of that noble crew forsakes his post, 
Leaving alone the calm, majestic form 
That firmer holds the wheel, and heads the ship 
Direct before the gale ; he, as the storm 
Increases, bolder grows, nor wavers at 
10 



218 THE PILOT REASON. 

Its strength, nor yields, e'en to imploring voice 
Of helpless youth, that fain would have him seek 
Security in cabined hold. 

He long has silence kept ; 
And only seemed, as one by one they fled 
Their posts, about to speak, but ere the words 
Were uttered closed his lips, as if in scorn, 
And silent braved the gale ; but now the last 
Has fled, and he alone the gale-chased bark 
Is left to guide : upon one only now 
Depends the safety of. the noble ship, 
That, like a frightened racer, plunges 'neath 
His steady hand, and rushes seeming on 
To fearful end ; and hark ! he' speaks ! the lips 
That scorn had sealed are parted now, and 'bove 
The yelling blast rings full and clear his voice ; 
At the fearless sound up from the deck spring 
The despairing forms of all that crew, and 
Man again, with hope renewed, the dripping 
Ropes. 

That youthful form relaxes slow her 
Frightened grasp, and shelter seeks beneath the 
Storm-washed deck, ashamed that she had yielded 
To such fear; the gale in disappointment 
Sinks away to silent rest ; the thunders 
(Muttering retire, accompanied by 
The fierce glare that lights their pathway through the 
Caverned clouds ; the angry waves, no longer 



THE PILOT REASON. 219 

Into fierce fury lashed, yield humbly now 
Before the parting prow, nor resistance 
Dare ; and while the Day-God's earliest rays are 
Darting o'er those waves subdued, the wished-for 
Port appears, into which glides, safe guided 
By the noble, God-like form of Reason, 
The rescued ship, and safe at anchor rides 
Within her native bay, as though she ne'er 
Had known but calms. 



Night's dusky pall is settling slowly down 

On tow'ring spires, that rise 'bove marble balls 

"Where wealth triumphant reigns, and hovels low, 

Where poverty sits shivering in rags, 

As if with selfish finger they would clasp 

The last, ling'ring sunbeams which for many 

Weary winter hours they've hid from trembling 

Forms that, crouching 'neath their shade, have prayed, aye 

Vainly prayed, for one stray beam to pierce the 

Gloomy adamantine walls, and wake to 

Life, to wretched life, their poverty-chilled 

Frames ; with eager looks they've viewed the flick'ring 

Rays steal slowly up the richly-carved and 

Wealth-encumbered spire, leaping from scroll to 

Scroll, as if in heartless sport they mocked their 

Woes, then, as the gilded cross, emblem of 

Christianity, they reached ling'ring, they 

Seemed as if, repentant of their careless 

Mirth, they'd fain return to cheer the haggard 

Forms beneath ; but only for a moment 



poverty's doom. 221 

Paused, then from the gilded emblem upsprung 
Into the cold, blue sky, and faded from 
Their sight ; nor passed away alone, but bore 
Along the ling'rmg hope which, while those rays 
Were to the earth connected, though by that- 
Poverty-forbidden pile, still dwelt with 
Those chilled, famished forms, to smooth the ragged 
Edge of poverty. 

The hurried tread of 
Many feet proclaims the presence of the 
Toiling mass, whose weary sweat is coined to 
Glitt'ring gold, to load the few, the idle 
Few, with useless gems, or else, unused, to 
Dim in heaps within some banded chest ; and 
As they homeward drag their famished, o'erworked 
Frames to seek forgetfulness, 'their only 
Friend, in stupid sleep, imploring voices 
Rise at every step, from those who e'en that 
Short respite find not except upon the 
Cold, damp street ; the slimy curb their pillow, 
Companioned with the wallowing beast, whose 
Stupidness they fain would share. 

But fewer 
Feet are passing now ; and as the night creeps 
On apace, upon the streets a stillness 
Settles down — a stillness broken only - 
By despairing sobs from lowly wanderers, 
Who through the day with raised, imploring hands 



222 



And streaming eyes, have begged and begged, to meet 
With chilling looks, or blows, or curses from 
The Christian throng, until at last, without a 
Shelter for the form that holds divinity- 
Enshrined, before the chilling, midnight air 
They cow'ring shrink and ask despairingly 
For death ; by dread of future only held 
From seeking it beneath the prancing feet 
Of gold-emblazoned steeds, that sweep along 
With laughing beauties on the cushioned seats 
Reclined, whose jeweled tresses, were they shorn, 
Would plume hope's wings anew until she'd seek 
The place where dread despair has brooded long, 
And chase her from the place. 

Anon those moans, 
By near approach of seeming merriment, 
Are drowned ; a laugh is grating on the ear ; 
But how unlike the laugh of innocence ; 
False as hell itself! a mockery of 
Mirth, 'tis forced from out those ghastly lips with 
Such a hollow sound, that e'en the painted 
Cheeks, beneath the blush that mantles up the 
Once pure brow, grow dim and pale ; despair is 
Father to that fiendish laugh, and, with 
Revenge its mother, in that once pure breast 
Holds horrid revel, feasting on departed 
Virtue, blasted hopes, cruel neglect, and scorned 
Until the seat of love a very hell 



poverty' S DOOM. 223 

Becomes ! while those who make it so, prate 
Knowingly of early sin, of fallen 
Nature, and of hearts depraved, e'en while they 
On the other side pass by, and leave the 
Friendless Magdalen to deeper sin, lest 
They should soil themselves in contact. 

But from 
These scenes my soul revolting turns, to ask 
The cause ; why, why, oh, God ! should such things be 
Where holy, consecrated spires are up 
To heaven pointing, to tell the Christian's 
Hope ? — where followers of the pure Nazarene 
Are numbered by the hosts ; why toils away 
His life the struggling artisan for bread 1 
Why herds divinity with swine, and in 
Despair wishes that it knew no more than 
Its companion beast ? — why sweeps the painted 
Harlot o'er the night-frosted pave with none 
The helping hand to give ? no kindly balm 
To heal the guilt-scarred heart, and raise her from 
Her degradation ? Look to your altars 
For the cause ! Until the temple 's cleansed 'tis 
Vain to seek for beauty in its walls ! While 
Hirelings desecrate the inner courts — while 
Christianity is bought and sold like 
Paltry trash ; while vice embroidered finds a 
Seat where ragged virtue 's scorned, such sights 
Will ever mar the scene. 



224 poverty's doom. 

In form, the power of 
Godliness is lost ; beware, ye who have 
Found the mystery of that power whose forms no 
More encumber you ! by fruits the tree is 
Known, and he who seeks to grasp the apple 
From the fruitless limb will find a shadow 
In his hand, or, worse, a bitter morsel, 
A deadly poison to the mind ; again 
Beware ! beware of forms ! 



From scenes of glory, such as mortal eyes^ 

Would dim to gaze upon, where love, from earth's 

Impurities made free, weaves ever crowns 

Of priceless worth from hope's glad rainbow tints, 

For the freed millions that her counsel take ; 

From angel paths upwinding evermore 

Through scenes of fairer beauty, and where joy 

Divine beams forth from each seraphic face, 

I turn, reluctant, my unwilling gaze 

Into the distant, gloomy past ; a deep, 

Impenetrable darkness shrouds the scene, 

Bidding defiance to the clearest sight ; 

A. darkness such as spirit-eye alone 

Can see, that seems embodied in material 

Form, so dense its horrid blackness. 

But while I gaze, 
The shade that but a moment since seemed like 
An everlasting barrier of strength, rolls 
Heavy back, giving permission to my 
Sight to roam, still on its unwilling 
10* 



226 a vision. 

Search for the dark, dread secrets of the past, 

Until it meets another check ; not now 

A shade, a dreary void that only in 

Imagination has a form, for through 

The fearful gloom, impenetrable still 

To mortal eyes, the jagged points appear, 

Mingled promiscuous of frowning rocks, 

Which, as if upheaved by tortured Nature's 

Fiercest throes, in wild irregularity 

Are piled, until the eye at either way 

Can find no end, and upward looks, only 

To see the thick'ning shade receive into 

Its dark embrace, and blend the roughened points 

Into night's blackest pall. 

My sight, no longer free 
To dart ahead, wanders, devoid of rest, 
Around those earthquake-sculptured walls, seeking 
Some opening through the horrid shapes of gloom 
That, frescoed by volcanic fires, seem, from 
Gigantic robes of blackest shade, starting 
To bar advance. 

Through those imaginary ranks 
Of fearful shape it wanders vainly on, 
Until at last a break appears ; though not 
Of promise much it seems, but darker 
Shade, of care mysterious it tells, through which, 
Perchance, my step may wanderirig find, though it 
Be but small, some opening, from which the eye 



a vision. 227 

May gaze, and read of brighter days than seem 
Impressed upon these walls ; adventurous 
Indeed the journey seems, and peril lurks 
At every step — but forward, self-impelled, 
I move, and scorn to ling'ring wait while aught 
Before me is to learn. 

The entrance reached ; 
Those dusky forms seem stooping from their cold 
Rigidity to warn me back ; but as I enter, 
Changed, appear to close the way with their gaunt, 
Shadowy arms, and hold me prisoner, in 
Living grave confined ; the rock-ribbed arches 
Overhead send echoing, like distant 
Thunder, back the hollow sound thai rolls the 
Caverned way along at every step of 
My advance ; with frightful stare the wondering 
Eyes of startled night-birds, through the black void, 
From every side upon me glare, while their 
Sharp boding screams in wild discordant sounds 
Combine at this intrusion on their chill 
Solitude ; disgusting reptiles at my 
Step retreat into their inner, shiny 
Dens, or coiled in hissing heaps warn me to 
Change my course, while poisonous bats brush fiercely 
Past on angry wing, to make more horrid 
Still the gloom ; until, with brain confused, I 
Turn discouraged from the search, again to 
Seek the outer world ; but only turn to 



228 a vision. 

Find confusion greater still, fresh discords 
Circling 'round my path, and horrors new on 
Every side urging me on into the 
Dread unknown, to 'scape the awful present. 

But in the distance 
Lurid rays across the dreary way are 
Flashing fitfully, and thither now I 
Turn my steps confused to find the cause ; nor 
Check my speed until, the distance reached, full 
In the glare I stand,, and gaze with wonder 
On the scene unfolded to my view. 

Upon a mighty throne, 
Whose vast foundations, broad as earth on which 
They rest, embedded are in hecatombs 
Of slaughtered millions, sits the giant form 
Of Bigotry ; clothed in his robes of stern, 
Relentless power, he holds a bloody axe 
Suspended o'er the cowering thousands at 
His feet, and while his chosen favorite, 
Revenge, sends death and misery unchecked 
Abroad to all that dare his power deny, 
Encouragingly smiles, and waves him on 
To darker deeds of blood ; upon his right, 
Gray, wrinkled Superstition stands, and with 
Her shadowy but mysterious power upholds 
The form that but for her would totter in 
Its childish imbecility, and sink, 



a vision. 229 

A helpless shadow, to the earth ; while she, 
Without protection from the hand which she 
Sustains, would by Reason's biting lash from 
Off the face of earth be driven ; Ignorance, 
Black Ignorance, with vacant smile, supports 
His left, holding her ready robe before 
The gaze of all who would inquire, to hide 
The imperfections of her tyrant lord ; 
And while she holds the vail before their eyes, 
Prates with her parrot tongue of hidden things, 
Of mystery that it is deadly sin 
To seek to solve ; then sings of bliss in blind 
Obedience, until the list'ning crowd 
Bow down before her vacant face, and dream 
That in her soulless, stupid smile they read 
Of perfect peace ; then join the hosts that bow 
Before the hand. of blood which holds them, by 
That mated pair, its willing slaves. 

A horrid crew, 
In many a phalanx deep and strong, are ranged 
On either side ; in the front rank Murder 
Appears, and with her blood-red hand casts at 
The tyrant's feet a quivering heart, that from 
The mangled breast of one who dared assert 
The truth was torn ere it had ceased to beat, 
And for the cursed deed claims boldly her 
Reward, which ready granted sets her in 
Advance of all that crew, with title of 



230 • A VISION. 

" First propagator of the faith," and she, 
Flanked by her followers, exulting wheels 
Her brutal butcheries to recommence, 
Under blasphemous name of " holy war." 

Slander advances next, 
And bears the blasted character of one 
Whose heart was purity itself within 
Her blighting hand, that she by her vile hints 
Has driven to the suicidal wave, 
To shelter seek, in desperate moment, from 
Her venomed darts, because she would not yield 
The God-implanted reason of her soul 
For Bigotry's blind, damning creeds ; now the 
Grim phantom smiles, and condescending takes 
Her withered hand in his, to lead her to 
Station high before the hosts arrayed, who 
Wait her nod, to make each quiet village 
Green a battle-ground of strife — each happy 
Fireside but a wrangling hell. 

But why should I delay 
While each unholy leader fierce displays 
His shameful trophies to that tyrant power 1 
Why wait to look on vice rewarded, while 
Down-trampled virtue bleeds ? — The misery of 
The past is now explained, and at the doors 
Of cursed Bigotry I lay the groans 
And wails that ages long have risen from 
Suffering humanity — imploring 



A VISION. 231 

Aid to upper air — the murdered hosts whose 
Blood has sprinkled every plain ; the crushed and 
Bleeding hearts — defamed and slandered by her 
Groveling parasites — whose tears have flowed in 
Torrents through the land at shame unjustly 
Heaped upon them, call for your overthrow, 
Oh, heart-polluting Bigotry ! 

And you, ye noble few, 
Who bold array yourselves those mighty ranks 
Against, though treachery and murder on 
Your right assail, while Slander on the left 
Advances fierce, shrink never from the task ; 
Compact and close, welded in solid square, 
Press on direct toward the first great cause 
Of misery ; the frowning tyrant crushed, 
His satellites will hide their heads in caves 
And dens, and starve in solitude. 



Back, back, material mists of earth ! 
Into the past, which has so long bowed down 
Before your gloom mysterious, retire ! 
The present needs no more your aid, but seeks 
The unobstructed light of truth ; long has 
Your blighting presence intervened between 
That glorious light and souls in mortal frames 
Encased, giving its gross, material tint 
To emanations of divinity, 
As unpolluted as divinity 
Itself; aye ! even the divine has not 
Escaped your base, polluting presence free ; 
For the great creative, great pervading 
Mind, from which all motion sprang, the Mind that 
Hurled the countless systems into space, then 
Bade them all harmoniously 'round their 
Many centers roll, nor interfere one 
With the other, in the race sublime ; 
The Mind that spans a universe so vast 
That seraphs high, who flit from star to star ' 



X 



THEOLOGY. 233 

Ere thought a wing unfolds, have never found 

Its end ; the Mind whose changeless plans must be 

Perfection perfected, unchangeable 

Forever, or result in wild disorder 

Evermore increased ; the Omnipresent 

Mind, whose power omnipotent throughout all 

Space extends, you've robed in finite form of 

Man, slow wandering through the earth, screened by the 

Waving foliage, just by him created, 

From the burning rays of one of those bright 

Centers, moulded by his Almighty hand 

And hurled into the circling realms of space. 

The voice of Omnipresence, 
At your arbitrary mandate, issues 
From divinity-refreshing shades in 
Thunder tones — the presence of created 
One, that from his sight is hid — commanding ; 
Then, as the trembling fugitive appears, 
A curse — the first to which the smiling face 
Of earth e'er listened — those lips divine you 
Make to utter, because frail man (by him 
Created frail) has to temptations, placed 
Purposely before him, yielded ; nor falls 
The curse alone on the transgressor ; 
The fruitful earth, pronounced by those same lips 
As good, doomed to sterility, no more 
Rewards the panting laborer without 
A daily tribute from care-wrinkled brows; 



234 THEOLOGY. 

The flowers which sprang spontaneous from the soil, 

Must, withered, pass from off its face, or yield 

But niggardly perfume as payment for 

Long hours of watchful care ; while e'en the beasts 

That sported o'er earth's earliest tender green 

In harmony unbroken, are for man's 

Transgression cursed, and upon each other 

Prey in sudden wrath, until their fangs drip 

With the blood that but a moment since cOursed 

Playfully along their passion-scatheless 

Yeins. 

Each law of earth's condition 
Undeveloped, thus ye called a curse ; saw 
Angry Gods in each electric flash, and 
Heard in the quick following report the 
Boding rumble of their chariot wheels ; each 
War of elements was brooding wrath of 
Deity ; each tinted bow told of that 
Wrath appeased ; each meteor's transient flash, each 
Earthquake's rumbling jar, were premonitions 
In your sight of fearful future ; thus wrath 
Wao nourished in the human breast, wrath to 
Repel, and base revenge a resting-place 
There found ; but yet he deemed it not enough 
With your damp, heavy fogs to dim the light, 
Till Deity, thus seen, was to a level 
Brought with man created, while man sank down 
To equal level with the beast of prey, 



THEOLOGY. 235 

But settled thicker down, and darker made 

The scene by clothing the Unchangeable 

In robes of fickleness, till he repents 

Him of his noblest work, and sends from out 

The fountains of the deep resistless floods, 

To sweep him from his angered sight, as though . 

In ignorance was issued the command 

To multiply and fill the earth ; then spared 

A chosen family, his stern commands 

Again to disobey ; with bloody robes 

Of cruelty you've wrapped him 'round, until 

His name is but a name of fear, his voice, 

The voice of anger infinite. 

Then back again, I say, 
Oh, soul-enshrouding mists ! for in the east 
The golden tint appears that speaks approach 
Of welcome dawn, and her advancing chariot 
Whispers of thy conqueror. 

Hark ! catch ye not the sound 
Above the selfish roar of outer life — 
Of breaking chains, that ye so long have heaped 
Upon your trembling slaves 1 the cheering sound 
Is rising strong above the warning blasts 
Echoing from every watch-tower of your 
Fast decaying, fear-encompassed walls ; and, 
Swelling forth, it meets the early rays with 
Promise freighted darting 'cross the eastern 
Sky, the speedy advent of the noon-tide 



236 THEOLOGY. 

Blaze to usher in ; at the awakening 

Cry, which from each quarter of the earth so 

Long by you enslaved ascends, your crumbling 

Walls totter and sway with fear, and, like the 

Walls of Jericho, at the united 

Sound that soon will rise, they'll level with the 

Earth in desolation lie, a jest and 

By-word to the crowd they once inclosed. 

With eye prophetic, 
That the future reads like printed page, I 
See advancing mighty hosts, arrayed in 
Reason's armor strong, prepared to battle 
Do 'gainst the material ranks that wait, 
With wavering, broken front, their coming ; square 
After square wheels into sight in rising 
Tiers, until the upper center of the 
Arch seems reached, while at either way the ranks 
Extending, in the distance blend with the 
Blue of space, giving imagination 
Liberty to roam still on and on in 
Search of either flank ; as they advance, in 
Wild disorder break the wavering ranks that 
Them oppose, and, coward-like, into their 
Separate holds retreat, then turn to make a 
Show of bravery, protected by their walls ; 
But Reason from the front advances, and with 
Resistless batteries of might, action 
Against those rock-embattled fortresses 



THEOLOGY. 237 

Commences, the roar of which by mortal 
Ears e'en now is heard ; but farther on my 
Sight extends, and sees, amid the eddying 
Whirl, the towering spire that, rising 'bove the 
Dust and smoke below, marks where each fortress 
Stands falling on every side, confusion 
Making greater still ; but the fierce din that 
Marked the heat of strife is growing less, the 
Blinding smoke, which like a cloud has hung so 
Long between my sight impatient and those 
Striving hosts, is rising 'bove the scene, and 
Where but late those frowning piles cast dreary 
Shade across the way, Nature's more airy 
Castles rise, and shouts ascend, glad, happy, 
From millions freed from slavish bondage 
By the change. 



Black night, your blackest pall unloop, 
And drape in deepest gloom the smiling blue 
Of heaven — the budding beauties of the earth 
Within your thickest folds enwrap, till its 
Inhabitants shall in the darkness grope, 
Trembling with dread, lest next advancing step 
Shall plunge their sightless forms into some dark 
Abyss, made by your rayless drapery 
More dark. 

Dart into distant space, bright orb 
Of light, till telescope-assisted eye 
Shall fail to mark your sudden flight ; and you, 
Ye suns, with your revolving satellites, 
Retire, nor strive to pierce the vail with which 
The ebon hand of night seeks to enshroud 
The earth ; leave her alone in her wild flight 
With no companion but the orb she guides, 
Which, with its light withdrawn, 'round her whirls 
A thing to dread in its mysterious gloom. 
-Drive to her center, fierce Vesuvius, 



A FRAGMENT. 239 

The flames she spouts from out your roaring mouth ! 

Let each volcanic torch she lights by the 

Proud peaks which they consume, extinguished be, 

Or turned to smoldering on her vitals feed, 

Till fierce convulsions shall the center to 

The outer throw, making each fruitful plain 

A barren wilderness, yielding no life 

Life to sustain. 

Rush from your caves, ye desolating winds, 

And lend assistance to the storm-cloud fierce, 

That waits your aid to sweep with demon wings 

In fury to the trembling plain below, 

The universal gloom to help increase. 

While on those wings to havoc new create 

Ye downward whirl, let bolts sulphureous from 

Your center dart, oh, night-enveloped clouds ! 

To make the gloom perceptible by contrast, 

While your artillery from hill to hill 

Echoes with deaf'niiig crash confusion's reign 

To usher in. 

Break, torrents, from your icy fast'nings, 
And from those cloud-engirdled peaks descend, 
With might resistless, to the warmer vale 
Sweeping down all that your unchannel'd way 
Obstructs, till, where but late proud palaces 
Securely stood, the lightning's fitful glare 
Shall to the wandering gaze of man disclose 
Crag upon crag in wild disorder piled. , 



240 A FRAGMENT. 

Old roaring ocean, shake your shaggy mane, 

And lifting high your age-unconquered head, 

With foaming jaws upon your rival rush 

Until, where now the Andes proudly lift 

To heaven their many snow-capped heads, your huge 

Leviathans shall gambol with their young. 

# # # * # 

Made happy, let chance appear, and to her 
Wayward steed connect this darkened orb, 
While discord holds the loosened reins and laughs 
. Aloud to see confusion wild commence ; 
For man acknowledges no more the mind 
That holds the many systems, as it were, 
In one connected, but, selfish himself, 
Seeks selfish God and worships Deity 
Created by himself — nor even then 
Combines, for he of vengeful mind only 
In vengeance his Creator sees, and rears 
A bloody altar his revenge to bribe, 
With blood of lower grade, nor ceases there, 
But in imagination, with horror 
Fertile, into the future dives, and molds 
From ancient myths a hell of torments, such 
As heathen demons formed in heathen brains — 
Which, o'er the tiger of their tangled wilds 
Scarce raised, would blush to use as prison-house 
For vilest victim — until accustomed 
Long to dwell upon the hell created 



A FRAGMENT. 241 

By himself, he sees naught but rising flames, 
Whirling in circles 'round a writhing mass 
That once bore impress of Divinity ; 
Peering from which, the countenance of friend 
Whose hand in friendship's holy grasp with his 
Has often met, with awful agony 
Disfigured now, perchance, appears — aye, e'en 
Those by closer ties connected — blood of 
His blood — may, rising 'bove the boiling surge, 
Gaze with reproachful look toward the hand 
That, from them turned, is raised unmindful of 
Their woes in selfish thankfulness toward 
That phantom God, that with their agony 
His revenge has glutted — yet loves to hear 
The wail of tortured souls ever ascending 
Upward from that horrid pit, and justice 
Sees in men created for such doom. 

Altars 
By such erected to revenge are held 
Sacred, and on every side are seen ; but 
Pride and jealousy each their altars claim 
Within temples reared to the one — but by 
Gods many used— nor unsuccessful claim 
Present ; for many homage ready stand 
To yield, and swell the shout : " Great, great is our 
Divinity ;" thus deified becomes 
Each passion base, till to the unthinking • 
Mass it virtue seems, and wrong and outrage 
11 



242 A FRAGMENT. 

Riot hold where love alone should peaceful 
Scepter wield. 

What better, then, are they who 
Bow them to such shadowy Gods,' than those who 
Hail the orb of day as cheering presence 
Of Divinity — then, as it low sinks 
Behind the western hills, Divinity 
Departing see 1 The Deity they worship 
Ever smiles when he appears, and wraps the 
Mantling clouds around his face whene'er he 
Frowns, that they may not upon his anger 
Gaze ; while the fierce God revenge in wrath speaks 
Most, and wanton frowns on every side his 
Followers to hold in awe, and seems in 
Trembling fear delight to take. 

What matters it 
That Christian name they bear, while to cruel 
Hate they offer sacrifice, and, virtue 
Neglecting, deify each vice 1 for light 
They ever ask, then, when the light appears, 
Reject its aid because, like tinsel'd crowns 
Worn by stage-strutting monarchs of an hour, 
Their boasted virtue stands by that light in 
All its wortblessness revealed ; for peace 
They pray, then with the selfsame lips defiance 
Hurl on every side the baser passions 
To arouse ; for wisdom's presence ask, then, 
When her radiant form appears, load her with 



A FRAGMENT. 243 

Vilest epithets that she points out a 
Higher, nobler path than that in which they 
Tread, making their daily life a life of 
Contradictions palpable, of brute more 
Worthy than of man. Then let the gods they 
Worship unobstructed reign till chaos 
Claims her own, and they are satisfied to 
Yield them to a God whose statutes infinite 
E'en by himself are held inviolate. 



%xutt in (gjorir. 

Hark ! what dread decree is sounding 

'Mid the city's bustling throng ? 
Why are hearts with fear rebounding, 

Why is hushed the cheerful song ? 
Hear that monarch's proclamation 

Sounding through the silent air : 
" Death to every tongue and nation 

That shall bow the knee in prayer." 

See, in yonder open chamber, 

Where one bows the humble knee ; 
Fears he not the threatened danger — 

Heard he not the dread decree 1 
Thinks he that a monarch's favor 

His defenseless head will shield 
From a law that will not waver — 

That to kings will never yield ? 

'Tis not that the fearful mandate 
Has not sounded in his ear ; 



TRUST IN GOD. 245 

Nor that hope of monarch's favor 
From his mind has banished fear — 

Well he knows his mortal body 
Will be thrown to raging beast ; 

Still he turns unto his duty, 
Bows him to the favored east. 

Though he knows, with envy raging, 

Men are thirsting for his blood ; 
He his heavenly Father trusting, 

Bows himself in prayer to God. 
While his humble voice he's raising, 

Calling on his Father's name, 
Men, with looks of envy gazing, 

Hasten to his guilt proclaim. 

What avails that monarch's sorrow 1 

He can not avert the doom ; 
Though he labor till the morrow, 

'Twill not save him from the tomb. 
Though his heart were turned to mercy, 

Though he pity for him feel ; 
The decree of Mode and Persia 

He that passed can ne'er repeal. 

Now that man, so pure and holy, 

To devouring beasts is cast ; 
While that monarch's turning, slowly, 



246 TRUST IN GOD. 

To his house to watch and fast. 
Anxious, waits he for the morning — 

Sleep is banished from his eyes ; 
Ready at the early dawning, 

To the cave of death he flies. 

With a hopeless voice he's calling, 

Feeling that he calls in vain- 
Sure, he hears a voice replying — 

Beats his heart with hope again; 
" Live, oh, mighty king, forever !" 

Sounds from out that fearful cave ; 
" God his servants will deliver, 

He is ever near to save." 

With exceeding joy he listens, 

As he hears that faithful voice ; 
Hastes to free him from his prison, 

Hastens with him to rejoice ; 
While those men with envy burning 

To the angry beasts are thrown — 
Their revenge is on them turning, 

They but reap what they have sown. 

Thus, unwavering, to thy duty 
Forward press and never fear ; 

Though revengeful foes surround thee, 
Spirit-guards are ever near ; 



TRUST IN GOD. 247 

Though the poison tongue of slander 

For a while obscures thy light, 
'Twill burst forth in double splendor, 

Scatter every shade of night. 



^toalu, mg f Hi* 



Awake, my lute, to songs of praise, 
No more attune to mournful lays 

Thy sweet, familiar strings ; 
But sound them now to strains more true, 
Cheerful and bright, as rainbow hue 

Glancing from angel wings 

Far, far from every earthly grief, 
In thy sweet chords I'll find relief, 

And from thee never part ; 
For when all else was dark and drear, 
Thy soothing notes would ever cheer 

My bleeding, breaking heart. 

Thou wert my best, my truest friend, 
Faithful unto me to the end 

Through all my weary strife ; 
Then thou shalt not neglected lay 
In those bright realms of endless day, 

But wake again to life. 



AWAKE, MY LUTE. 249 

Often, while ling'ring in the form, 
Crushed to the earth beneath the storm 

Of earthly griefs and wrongs, 
I 'woke thy chords to mournful strains, 
Which now on these celestial plains 

I wake to rapture songs. 

No more shall sound those notes of grief, 

Which often sounded in my brief 

Sojourn within the form ; 

But here, where all is joy and love, 

I'll sweep those chords to bliss above 

And music heaven-born. 

/ 

Then loud the glorious anthem raise, 
Anew the great Creator praise 

In strains that never cease ; 
And while thy friendly chords shall ring, 
Of heavenly love I'll ever sing 

In spheres of endless peace. 
11* 



Shadows on my soul were falling 

When I left the earthly form ; 
Dark and dismal seemed the future- 

With no shelter from the storm 
That was ever 'round me raging — 

Making desolate my path — 
All my fondest hopes destroying, 

Overturning in it wrath. 

Why, I know not, o'er me hanging 

Ever seemed a gloomy pall ; 
Ever drooping to envelop 

All I loved beneath its pall ; 
Even there, so near the borders 

Of the unknown spirit-sphere, 
O'er my soul that shadow hovered, 

Filling it with gloomy fear. 

Soon I slumbered ; then awaking 
From a calm, a sweet repose, 



SHADOWS. 251 

Found that gloomy cloud had vanished, 

With it vanished all my woes ; 
Then I saw bright faces gath'ring, 

Whose long absence I had wept ; 
Then I knew I'd crossed the threshold 

To those spirits, while I slept — 

Crossed and left behind my sorrows 

With that feeble, worn-out frame ; 
Then I looked, with joy and wonder, 

At the form from which I came — 
Joyful that my griefs were ended, 

Ended with that parting breath — 
Wond'ring why my spirit trembled 

Even at the thought of death. 

Death, what is it but a blessing 

To the weary, weary heart? 
Calling it to brighter mansions, 

Never more from friends to part ! 
Still we meet it with a shudder, 

Tremble when we feel it near, 
Struggle hard 'gainst its advances 

With an agonizing fear. 

Near the happy day 's approaching 
When mankind the truth shall see, 

Look not upon death with terror, 
But as one that sets them free : 



252 SHADOWS. 

Free from sickness, pain, and sorrow, 
Free forever from all grief; 

Leads them to that happy country 
Where the weary find relief ; 

Find relief from every burden, 

On that bright, celestial shore ; 
Sin and folly then forsaking, 

Pressing forward evermore : 
Then, above the grave exulting, 

Shout with thy expiring breath — 
" Oh, grave ! where is thy victory ? 

Where is thy sting, oh, death ?" 



iHeejj ut for tlj.e i*aft. 

Rejoice for the day, 

When that mansion of clay 
The spirit no longer confines ; 

When 'tis free to arise 

To its home in the skies, 
Where love's light eternally shines. 

When a spirit oppressed 

Flies away to the rest 
It sought for in vain on the earth, 

And forgets every wrong 

In the triumphant song 
That welcomes the new angel-birth ; 

Wlien it leaves all its fears, 

All its sad, bitter tears 
Behind with the moldering form ; 

For bright regions of bliss, 

Leaves a world of distress, 
And bids a farewell to earth's storm— 



254 WEEP NOT FOR THE DEAD 

Why, why do ye mourn 
For that spirit's return — 

Why wish it again with its cares 1 
See ! e'en now as it roves 
Through those mansions above, 

New garments of beauty it wears. 

Once 'twas shrouded in gloom, 

Deep and dark as the tomb, 
Of light not a glimmering ray ; 

Now it dwells with the blest, 

And forever will rest 
In eternal regions of day. 

Once, o'erburdened with care, 
And weighed down with despair, 

Of hope and of comfort bereft — 
Now, 'tis gazing with love 
On those angels above, 

Forgetting the sorrows it's left. 

Then no longer weep 
For the loved ones that sleep — 
Though taken away from thy sight ; 
For you'll meet them again, 
Free from anguish and pain, 
. In mansions of eternal light. 



SBe to frn. 

We are free, we are free from our prisons of clay ; 
Free, to roam through the regions of eternal day ; 
No longer confined to those gross, earthly forms, 
We're safe from earth's trials, far, far from its storms — 
From its dark storms of passion, its sorrows, its tears 
Forever we're free ; then farewell to our fears — 
Never more shall we suffer with anguish distressed, 
See our plans o'erturned, all our efforts unblessed, 
For from all that can hinder our progress we're free, 
Then " right onward and upward" our motto shall be, 
Yes, onward and upward to meet the bright throngs 
Who will welcome our progress with triumphant songs ; 
Nor e'en there will we rest, but for ever progress, 
Ever gaining fresh knowledge to comfort and bless ; 
Through scenes ever roaming of beauty and joy, 
There we'll first find true happiness without alloy, 
And as we press onward in wisdom and love, 
While gaining, still grasping for knowledge above, 
We will not forget the loved ones in the form 
Who still are exposed to earth's pitiless storm ; 



256 WE ARE FREE. 

But gather around to encourage and cheer, 

With kind words of comfort from this happy sphere, 

While imparting to them sweet lessons of peace 

The fountains of wisdom for us will increase— 

Forever increase, until we have progressed 

Where sin never comes, where the weary find rest ; 

From earth's false-hearted friends, its trouble and strife, 

Find rest from its sorrows in eternal life ; 

Then will we rejoice that we've gained the bright land, 

Nor refuse to those left the encouraging hand. 



I am happy, dearest parents, 
In this glorious world of light ; 

Could you wish me to return then, 
Where day oft is changed to night ? 

Blissful spirits round me gather, 
Spirits from the heavenly spheres, 

And with them I'm near thee ever. 
Ever to dispel thy fears. 

Oh, what joy for me to see thee ! 

Hear thee ! ever near thee stay ! 
But what bliss to meet and welcome 

Thee to realms of endless day ! 

Oh, what pleasure ! oh, what rapture 
With thee o'er these fields to roam ! 

Never faint and never weary — 
Endless space our future home 



258 GONE BEFORE. 

Scenes of beauty, ever rising 
Upon the enraptured sight ; 

Ever changing, ever changing, 
Never hid by vail of night. 

Then, dear parents, do not mourn me, 
Think not of me with the dead ; 

Only gone awhile before thee, 

Through the path that all must tread. 



Happy voices oft are singing ; 
Words of<Jk)ve are often ringing ; 
Welcome faces, brightly gleaming, 
Smile upon me when I'm dreaming — 
Come they from the courts of heaven ? 
Am I to their keeping given 1 

Tell me if those forms so loving 
That with noiseless step are moving, 
And my path are guarding ever, 
That are absent from me never, 
Left those happy, shining bowers 
For this world of gloomy showers ? 

Tell me, for my heart is glowing, 
And with love is ever flowing — 
I my voice would fain be raising 
Their untiring love in praising — 
Love Infinite tells the story 
Then to it belongs the glory. 



Infantile SMirjortwits. 

Softly evening shades are stealing, 
Where a lovely cherub kneeling, 

Lisps her little prayer 
And a look, almost of heaven, 
To her angel-face is given — 

Trusting hope is there. 

" Heavenly Father, far above me, 
Though I can not see, I love thee 

For thy kindly care ; 
Tell me if dear father, mother, 
And my little smiling brother, 

In thy presence are ? 

For around me when I'm dreaming, 
Come three faces, happy, beaming, 

And I know them well ; 
When they come, sweet songs are ringing, 
Are they in thy presence singing ? 

Heavenly Father, tell." * 



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together with the similar experience of several other persons, Correspondence, etc. 
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on steel, illustrative of the departure of a Spirit from the earth-sphere ; also, six pages 
of facsimiles of Spirit- writing, and other engraved illustrations. The work is a 
splendid octavo of over 500 pages, handsomely printed on fine paper, and bound, 
for $1 25. Postage, 30 cents. — Partridge & Brittan. 

A Compendium of the Theological and Spiritual Writings of Emanuel 
Swedenborg ; 

Being a Systematic and Orderly Epitome of all his Eeligious "Works ; selected from 
more than Thirty Volumes, and embracing all his Fundamental Principles, with 
copious Illustrations and Teachings. With an appropriate Introduction. Prefaced by 
a fall Life of the Author ; with a brief View of all his Works on Science, Philosophy, 
and Theology. Partridge & Brittan, General Agent. Price $2. Postage, 45 cents. 

The Telegraph Papers. 

Vol. I. ; edited by S. B. Brittan. This volume of miscellanies comprises all the 
important articles published in the Spiritual Telegraph for the three months 
ending August 1st, 1853— over 400 pages, 12 mo. Price 75 cents. 

The Telegraph Papers. 

Vol. II. ; edited by S. B. Brittan. This book contains all the important facts and 
disquisitions published in the weekly paper from August to November, 1853 — over 
500 pages, 12 mo. Price 75 cents. 

Proceedings of the Hartford Bible Convention. 

Eeported phonographically by Andrew J. Graham. Published for the Commit- 
tee ; 383 pages, 12 mo. Price 75 cents. Postage, 17 cents. 

The Birth of the Universe. 

Being a Philosophical Exposition of the Origin, TJnfoIdings, and Ultimate of Crea- 
tion, by and through E. P. Ambler. Price 50 cents. Postage, 9 cents. 

Spirit-Intercourse. 

Containing Incidents of Personal Experience while investigating the new phe- 
nomena of Spirit-thought and action ; with various Spirit-communications through 
himself as medium. By Herman Snow, late Unitarian minister at Montague, 
Massachusetts. Price 60 cents. Postage, 10 cents. 

Spirit-works Eeal, but not Miraculous. 

A Lecture, read at the City Hall in Eoxbury, Mass., by A. Putnam. Price 25 cents. 
Postage, 3 cents. '' 

A Treatise on the Peculiarities of the Bible. 

Being an Exposition of the Principles involved in some of the most remarkable 
Facts and Phenomena recorded in Eevelation; by Eev. E. D. Eendell. Price 75 
cents. Postage, 17 cents. 



